Time Heals All
by kasey8473
Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. WARNING- rape mentioned. Chapters nine and ten are uploaded. Complete
1. Chapter One

Title: Time Heals All

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Notes: Anyone who knows my writings well know that I tend to take the characters I like and make them walk through hell and back. This is not a fluffy style romance. This is a story dealing with a serious occurrence and any romantic undertones will be darker than my previous works. As for the subject matter of male rape: I'm not a slash writer and have no wish to be one, so there will be no graphic 'flashbacks' of what Adhemar suffered. The focus is not on the rape itself, but rather the trauma of it. I will, however, attempt to portray the healing process in a somewhat believable manner. It will not be rushed or dealt with lightly, so please don't expect new chapters weekly. 

If **_anyone_**, and I mean anyone, feels this should have a higher rating, **please contact me **and I will be more than happy to change it. I know the subject is squicky.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a man tied to a tree, his arms lashed to a branch above his bowed head. He had been stripped to the waist, his chest and back one mass of cuts, both fresh and older, red with infection. Dark bruises of varying degrees of yellow, violet and black covered the flesh not adorned with cuts. Will urged his mount closer, wincing to see such wounds. He could imagine the agony the man was in.

The clearing was quiet and still. Makeshift tents were scattered and the fire pit was cold, no lingering wisp of smoke trailing upwards from the ashes. The scent of scorched meat, however, did linger, a pungent unpleasant scent. Will took it all in in a scant few seconds, his gaze never resting for long on any one thing, but rather seeing and registering every secret the clearing had to give up. When his perusal was completed, he returned his attention to the man. The arms were nearly at an unnatural angle and Will decided it was only a matter of time before the strain of hanging that way yanked the arms fully from the sockets.

The broad back barely moved with breath and Will had to narrow his eyes to even tell the man still breathed. The breeches he wore were torn and dirty, mud caking the lower part of the legs. He couldn't leave a man here, couldn't leave anyone to the tender mercies of these thieves that were terrorizing the countryside.

Dismounting, he approached with caution, though he knew the thieves that had set this camp up to all be elsewhere. He had watched them leave one by one, all twelve. With a glance left and right, he reached beneath the man's chin and raised it to see his face.

Shock made him let go.

This man, strung up and beaten near to death, was _Adhemar_. Although the face was swollen with bruises, the eyes so puffed Will doubted he could even open them, it was still recognizable as Adhemar. He didn't think he'd ever forget that face, even if fifty years passed.

What do I do, he thought, teeth biting into his lip. Do I take him away or leave him here? For all I know, this punishment is just. He would leave me were I thus, likely adding his own marks upon me. 

He turned his gaze heavenward to the brilliant blue of the sky barely visible through the great tent of green leaves. Leaving him here to die would make me as bad as he. Show your honor boy and get him to help! He doesn't need to know who rescued him.

The decision made, Will slid one arm about the man to brace him, grimacing as blood slickened his palm and nearly caused him to lose his grip. With his knife, he sawed through the ropes holding the man in place until Adhemar's weight dropped onto him. A fevered groan came low from Adhemar's lips. The heat of his skin was searing, a fire brand through the layers of Will's shirt and coat.

Oh dear God, he's taken a fever. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't perish from it.

It was a trial getting him over the back of his horse, but Will managed, then headed back the way he'd come. The ride to where Christiana waited seemed to take hours instead of the short while he guessed it to be. She was still there waiting, her knife in hand until she saw it was him. Then, she re-sheathed it.

"I see you found a survivor," she said, calm gaze taking in the limp form draped over the horse.

Why she hadn't taken off screaming into the woods was a mystery to Will. The bodies of a full garrison of soldiers lay slaughtered on the ground of the clearing, the stench of death in the air, the blood in dark, stinking puddles on the earth. It was enough to make him choke and his eyes water, but Christiana seemed unaffected, taking deep breaths as though the air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers. Perhaps it was for her, he thought. He'd ceased to try and make sense of her mind in the last few months. "Aye. It's Adhemar. He'll die if he doesn't get care soon."

Riding close, the hooves of her horse stepping almost delicately over the bodies on the ground, she stretched out a hand to touch the edge of one particularly nasty cut. "This one is deep. It needs stitching." Christiana glanced at the bodies on the ground with an unconcerned air. "I recognized the colors of his house. One of the men still carries a flag with Adhemar's coat of arms."

"You didn't mention it before."

"I didn't think he was with them. By the last rumor, he'd gone to Venice." One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I'm surprised he was caught." Her hand went to Adhemar's head, slipped through his hair, fingers searching along his scalp. "I don't feel any bumps."

"He was tied, arms over his head." He tried to think of somewhere they could take the man, any place where the services of a reputable surgeon could be found. None leapt to mind. It had been too long since he'd traversed these roads of France; too long since he'd lived in the country. He knew little of which surgeons were the best. Even Christiana had been gone too long to be able to say.

Her fingers ran along Adhemar's jaw, raising his chin slightly. Slowly, she studied him. She cleared her throat. "I can give the care he needs."

Will stared at her. He hadn't even considered asking her to be the care giver, not after the past year. "Are you certain you want to?" Would the man appreciate her care when he woke? Likely not. According to all accounts he'd been hell-bent on self destruction since Will had won that joust three years earlier. 

There'd been no war too foolish for Count Adhemar's Free Companies to get involved in. Somehow, the man had managed to escape death time and again, moving on into pursuits more foolish, going where even the bravest knight feared to go. He traveled the world in search of new and more dangerous ways to possibly kill himself. According to gossip, he had gone on whore binges, inviting expensive prostitute after expensive prostitute into his chambers until his mother had, in desperation for the family fortune, convinced his youngest brother to take control of the finances. More gossip stated that Adhemar hadn't even noticed. He lived from the wages his fighting earned and from whatever he could pillage out of the conquered towns.

"Yes. We must reach shelter though. I've much to do before his fever worsens."

"Well," he sighed. "I don't suppose he'll be thankful to me, but he already considers me an enemy, so what have I to lose?" With those words, the two rode on with their patient.

~~~~~~~~~~

With candles and a fire lit to ward off the evening chill, Christiana sought to gather the supplies she'd need to care for her patient. _Her patient._ Despite the severity of the task ahead, her lips twitched with a smile. It was good to be involved in helping a life again. She'd found a love of physician's things the previous year, when sickness had swept the Thatcher household, but had been barred from using the knowledge she'd gained when Will and Jocelyn thought sick people would keep her from healing herself. Neither one of them understood. After dealing with death so personally, it was a comfort to work to cheat that angel. Out of all, Kate had been the only one who'd faintly grasped Christiana's state of mind.

She found cloths and mixed up two kinds of salve for use on the various cuts, then hunted a needle and thread from her trunk. For a brief second, her hands paused against the last cloth her husband had worked on, fingers tracing the half-finished flowers before she shook her head and took the items to the small table beside the bed.

Will had brought Adhemar into the cottage and laid him on the bed. He'd brought her a bucket full of water from the well and filled a basin, all the while watching her out of the corner of his eye. Sweet Will, always so concerned for the welfare of those in his household. While she appreciated his concern, he'd be better met worrying over whether Jocelyn would suffer another late miscarriage. Christiana could take care of herself. As far as she was concerned, she'd proved that rather ably since the months of sickness.

With a sigh, she soaked a cloth in water and began to gently wash the blood and grime from the man's skin, beginning with his face and working her way down his torso. Some of the cuts weren't as bad as she'd feared, but others were worse. When she reached the waistband of his breeches, she set the cloth aside and worked them from him. It was a slow process that caused occasional moans to issue forth from him, but she managed. Continuing with her task, she noted with a clinical eye that the abuse he'd suffered had not been confined to mere beatings and whippings. Stretching a hand up, she ran the back of her fingers along his stubbled cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, though she knew he was not conscious enough to understand her words.

When all traces of dirt and ill-use were washed from him, she set about sewing the deepest cuts. The thought of passing needle through flesh didn't phase her in the slightest and soon she was done, moving on to covering cuts with salve and finally swathing him in bandages. Her gaze lingered for a moment on a bite mark. How could men do that to another man?

Gathering all the remaining pillows in the cottage, Christiana wedged them behind Adhemar so he wouldn't be able to roll onto his back. There. He was as comfortable as she could make him. When he woke, she'd try and get him to eat and drink. Until then, all she could do was wait and watch.

Watch is what she did, positioning a chair at the bedside and sitting in it. His breath had a hitch in it, almost as though he were trying, in sleep, to keep from giving in to crying. He mumbled in forceful tone, but no words she could pick apart at first. As night deepened, the fire burning low, those mumblings became more articulate, his slight movements agitated. She listened and learned and could not keep from stroking his brow, murmuring soothing words until he calmed. By the time the sun peered over the horizon, she'd slept little.

~~~~~~~~~~

Will glanced about the tiny cottage, reluctant to enter. Anymore he didn't feel entirely at ease with Christiana. There was always the nagging feeling that he was saying all the wrong things to her. She never said as much and never treated him any differently than before, yet he couldn't shake the feeling. It hung on his back, clung to his coat and generally made for awkward silences in their conversations.

The basin of water he'd filled the night before was dark with muck and he spied Adhemar's breeches in a pile on the floor. "You took those from him yourself?"

Christiana paused in braiding her hair. "Yes."

"He's heavy."

"So was Roland, but I prepared his body and buried him myself didn't I?"

Will's breath caught in his throat. The loss of Roland to sickness months earlier still pained him. That only Christiana had been well enough to perform a burial grieved him. He could barely imagine the pain she'd felt having to wrap up her husband, dig his grave and place him in it. A woman shouldn't have to physically bury her husband that way. And to carry on tending the sick? As soon as he'd recovered, he'd stopped that so she could grieve for Roland. She hadn't needed to be wrapped in sickness day in and day out with loss fresh in her mind. Even now, he wondered if he should send for a physician. "I'm sorry Christiana."

She shook her head. "All of you keep saying that, like you could have saved him. God takes us all when it's our time and it was his time to go. He loved me and I loved him, but I know I'll see him in heaven someday."

He didn't know what to say to that, entering the cottage instead and stepping towards the bed.

"You didn't come to talk of Roland though. You came to see about Adhemar. His fever is down, but there's infection settled on the deepest of those cuts. I've put salve on it. If it doesn't look better tomorrow, I'll have to use a poultice to try and draw the poisons out." She joined him by the bed. "He's far from the healthy man he was and his mumblings are alarming at times."

"Mumblings?" Will crossed his arms. The man's color was better, no deathly pallor present. That was good. 

"He remembers what happened to him in his dreams. He thrashed about all last night and I was able to piece together a bit. The thieves surprised him, killed his men and took him back to their camp. They beat him, whipped him and..." Her eyes lifted to Will's. "He was used, Will."

Will stared at her, then at the silent man on the bed, and back at Christiana. "No." That Adhemar, arrogant and strong, could be degraded in such a manner took the breath from him like a punch to the gut. It didn't seem real. She had to be making that up. No, he knew she wasn't. Christiana wouldn't lie about such a thing.

"If he doesn't break from it, his vengeance upon them will be bloody." She sat on the bedside, adjusting the covers, hands touching the broad chest, skirting the cuts, yet lingering on the bare flesh. A strange gleam sparked in her eyes.

"Christiana?" Will frowned.

"Hmm?" A tiny gentle smile curved her lips and she smoothed the man's hair off his brow.

"You tend your patient nothing more." A hard edge he couldn't help crept into his voice. He'd not have her becoming fond of Adhemar or thinking in a strange fashion that she was saving Roland by saving this man from death. She'd act as physician and that was all. Technically, she answered to him. "_Only_ tend."

Her hands lifted, clasped in her lap. "Of course. I care for my patient."

"Care, not love. Remember that. Don't begin to equate saving his life with loving him. Don't confuse the two." Leaning down, Will placed a hand on her cheek, turning her face so he could see it. "I don't want you hurt. Please, Christiana, don't become attached to this man."

Slender fingers grasped his, removed his hand from her face. "I'm a grown woman, Will. I know the difference. Now go. You've other things more pressing than staying here. I can handle this by myself."

Will nodded. It was truth. "Very well. I'll be back later."

At the door, he glanced back and, seeing nothing odd about her actions, left. However, a sense of foreboding stayed with him the entire day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cool hands stroked along his fevered flesh, a gentle female voice calling for him to be still. It could not be an angel, for heaven was surely not his destination, yet neither would the devil be so kind. Had he landed in purgatory? The soft voice continued to entreat him to be still. No, he did not think he'd end up in purgatory, but would rather slide straight down into the hottest part of hell's licking flames for his numerous sins. By that reasoning, he concluded that he, somehow, still lived. How could he live when he recalled feeling the heat of high fever take him, the chills from it and finally the numbness? After all that had been done to him, from the beatings and the whippings to the other, it was nearly unfathomable that he might _not_ die and be free of his pains.

He turned his head, willing the thoughts of the last, and most degrading, abuse to go away. Never, in his years as Master of the Free Companies, had he realized the turmoil he had put those people in the conquered villages into. The women he'd hurt in the same way he had been hurt by the thieves....

"Sshhh." The voice comforted, the hand now touching his hair in a gesture he remembered his mother doing to soothe him as a young child. "You are safe. Don't thrash about. You'll open the stitches."

The word 'stitches' brought the pain in his body to full light. Each inch of flesh, it seemed, screamed its agony and he could not escape from it. Pain seared into him. His shoulders throbbed and his back felt so raw and tender that he wondered if he'd been skinned. Perhaps he truly was in hell after all. "I can't see," he croaked through a throat hoarse and aching.

"Your eyes are swollen shut. It will be awhile before the swelling goes down. Please don't fear. No one will hurt you here. You're among friends."

"I have no friends." That voice. He wished he could see the woman's face, for she sounded so very familiar. Her lilting accent was a mix of English and French.

A warm laugh, those cool fingers trailing along his forehead and cheeks. "Relax. I'll take care of you." He smelled lavender, felt a wetness drop onto his cheek. The drops slid down, catching on the curve of his lip and he tasted the salt of tears upon his tongue. Whoever she was, she wept. Somehow, that comforted him and he let the darkness of slumber once more encase him.


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Time Heals All

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Notes: A thank you to Heywood, who helped me to retrieve this chapter and the next two off a disk. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Will watched Jocelyn sew, her stitches small and even. Beside her on the table was a stack of baby clothes. She'd spent a good portion of their time together in various stages of pregnancy. One would end and she'd conceive right away again. The collection of baby clothes was growing. She was constantly at work on some tiny garment, never giving up her hope of having a tiny infant in her arms. Occasionally, she'd wrap a few garments up and give them away as gifts. She seemed to be doing well this time, nearly seven months along and no problems, not even a twinge of nausea. At least, none that she'd mentioned. He suspected that even if she did have problems, she'd no longer tell him.

She paused in her efforts and glanced up at him, concern etched on her features. "How is he?"

"Alive. For now." He shrugged, shifting his weight. "How are you feeling this fine morning?" It wasn't for deceit that he avoided giving a detailed account of Adhemar's injuries, only a courtesy to the man by not telling details to all. Only Christiana and himself would know the truth if he could help it. It was no one's business how Adhemar had suffered at the hands of those men.

"Terrific." She set the cloth aside and got up from the chair, coming to him and placing a kiss on his lips. "Does Christiana need any help? I'd be happy to take a basket down and help her." Her hands smoothed along his coat, fingers tracing the embroidery. "Maybe sit with him to give her a spell of rest."

"No, she doesn't need help." There was a question in Jocelyn's eyes, deeper in meaning than the words she spoke. Her not so subtle way of asking if Christiana was showing any signs of depression from playing at doctoring. "She seems quite cheerful considering the circumstance."

"The circumstance?" Her brows rose in question.

Will put his hands at her waist. "Adhemar, that's what. I'd never thought to see him again. I'd thought he'd die from those foolish antics long before we'd run into him again."

"Well, we'll return him to health and send him on his way as soon as he is well. He can go off and die at someone else's home."

Will paused, looking down into her eyes. "It may be awhile. He's very hurt, Jocelyn."

"As long as it takes. I'm not advocating sending him off the day his wounds, whatever they are, heal. He should go when he's ready to travel." She stepped away, going to the table and lifting a piece of paper from beneath some of the finished clothes. "Goeff sent a letter."

He followed her across the room. A letter from Geoff was always a treat. Unfortunately, correspondence with the former herald had grown sporadic, any letters few and far between. "And?"

She laughed, little more than a chuckle really. "He's happily living the life of a political ambassador or something. He gets to travel all over, meet new people."

"I see." Geoff had taken his leave of them directly after the hasty wedding Jocelyn's family had put together at the news of her first pregnancy. He'd claimed other obligations he'd been avoiding and his life since then bore that claim out. Will missed him however, missed the droll humor and the fights Geoff had constantly incited with Wat.

"You're sure she doesn't need help?"

"Quite sure." And he hoped to God he was right. Christiana was behaving normally, but almost too evenly so. It worried him that she'd taken to Adhemar so quickly.

He sat at the table and spread paper before him. He'd write a letter back to Geoff. The man would be amused that Will had made good progress in the writing department. He could almost hear Geoff saying, 'Very good Will. Now you can give her poetry written in your own hand.' With a final glance at Jocelyn, he began to carefully form the words he wanted to say.

~~~~~~~~~~

He worried too much about her, Jocelyn reflected, watching her husband writing at the table. Over three years, he'd learned to read, write and perform basic mathematical equations, all with the iron determination she knew to be a central part of who he was. She loved that about him. When he settled upon a course of action, he threw himself in whole heartedly. Once William Thatcher was behind a person, they had his full support. He was being cautious about Adhemar's health and that was fine with her. She'd only asked out of politeness, of a sense that, as lady here, she should inquire.

Jocelyn wasn't really interested in Adhemar. He'd ceased to genuinely concern her the day Will had won the joust. That win had ensured her father would agree to the match. He'd been hesitant about Will, but just as hesitant about Adhemar. Jocelyn's dislike of the latter had kept him from finalizing any agreement until after the joust. Will's win, and apparent favor with Prince Edward, had been the last push her father needed to agree that Jocelyn could marry Will if she wished. Well, that and the pregnancy she'd done her best to bring on. 

Not all fathers were so considerate to their daughters and she thought herself lucky. It would have been very easy for her father to wed her to Adhemar anyway and for the Count to make..._arrangements_ for the child if she'd carried to term. She'd heard plenty of times about the sort of arrangements a man could make, selling the child as a slave and the like. Her prayers had been answered though, and that had not happened. She'd married her love.

Jocelyn had ignored any consideration of Adhemar over the years, consigning him to the oblivion of forgotten memory and ignoring the gossip as she concentrated herself on being a good wife to Will. However, now she'd dredged up the memory of the man and was becoming curious. Christiana thought herself a healer and Jocelyn knew she did have some talent in that direction, but to volunteer to tend the man? Jocelyn wondered, as she had many times over the past months, if Christiana was living in some dream world she'd created to help herself deal with Roland's sudden death. No, Adhemar didn't really interest her, but Christiana's motivations and state of mind did.

Taking up her sewing, she took more stitches on the garment. To keep Will from worrying, she sat and sewed. She kept herself as still as she could, flat on her bottom and sometimes lingering in bed. She sewed small clothes until she was sick of doing so, longing to be walking about and active, but fear stayed her. Fear of losing another child made her follow her instinct and instinct told her to be still for once in her life. Christiana had advised that she be still as well, and the midwife concurred.

So Jocelyn sat, and watched everyone around her living life. She hated sitting on the side, but to give Will an heir and have the pleasure of holding the fruit of their love in her arms, she'd do it with a smile.

Except for tomorrow. Tomorrow, she'd go and see Christiana.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was dreaming and she knew it was a dream, for Roland was there, sitting in the chair she'd set beside the bed, his brown eyes trained upon the battered, bruised man that lay stretched out and silent save the occasional small, fevered moan. Getting up from the pallet she'd set up before the fireplace, Christiana's dream self crossed to her dead husband, placing a trembling hand upon his shoulder. Cold fingers reached up to grasp hers with a comforting squeeze.

He'd not been warm in her dreams since his death, as though her mind sought to remind her that death is cold. Will and Jocelyn both thought that she could forget that Roland was dead. They had no idea of her dreams; dreams where Roland explained things to her.

She wasn't crazy. No. She knew the man in her dreams wasn't really Roland, not a ghost or an apparition. He was only a part of her mind, an image pulled from memory to make sense of things that confused her. Her mind used Roland much in the way his role in her life had been. Roland was never just a husband and lover to her. He was friend, confidante and counselor. In life, he'd given her the benefit of his wisdom. When Will and Jocelyn had cut her off from tending the sick, the dream Roland had made that action make sense in her mind. He'd explained that they thought they were helping her. Their intentions were good, if misguided, since neither had noticed the comfort she found with the sick and injured.

Why was he here now? What was she not understanding that he'd come to explain? "Roland?"

He released her hand. "You can let yourself feel again."

"Will said--"

"Forget what Will said. He means well, but he doesn't know what's best for you. It's all right for you to look upon this man and see him as a person, recognize that there's something that attracts you to him and makes you wish to help him." He turned his head a bit more, and Christiana saw that his face was sunken, flesh molding about the facial bones.

She snatched her hand away from him, crossing her arms over her breasts and going to the foot of the bed. "You look different."

His smile was tiny and tinged with sorrow. "You won't need me much longer. You can put me away and live your life again."

For the first time in months, the thought of her dream husband going the way of her real husband didn't fill her with a stabbing panic. She could accept it, and let him go. "I understand."

Now, he chuckled. "I don't think you do, but you will. Eventually, you will."

The edges of the room began to fade, dissolving into a grayish white fog, Roland standing and turning his back to her, walking into that fog without a final backward glance. She heard his footsteps retreating and then the only sound remaining were her own soft breaths and the moans of her patient. She was alone with him, her gaze sliding to him. They were completely surrounded by the fog, the bed and the area around it an island, adrift in solitude and calm.

He shifted beneath the covers, inching about until the pillows she'd placed to keep him on his side slipped away. His eyes opened, though she knew the real man wouldn't be able to do so comfortably for another day or two.

"Christiana?" His voice was rough and scratchy, saying her name, more a hoarse whisper than anything. The real man had not asked for her name, nor indicated that he knew her voice. "I'm thirsty."

This was repeated over and over until she covered her ears with her hands and found the room sliding from her as though she traveled on a runaway steed along a narrow road.

Christiana woke with a gasp, heart pounding hard in her breast.

Her patient was speaking.

"Lady? Are you there?" There was a hesitant hitch to the words, like he feared to hear a different voice than hers in answer.

She got up from her pallet with a loud rustle of cloth, half expecting to find she still dreamed. It wouldn't have surprised her to see Roland sitting in that chair. "I'm here." Yawning, she stretched, feeling the wincing pull of muscles unused to sleeping on the ground regularly. One hand lifted, brushed her tangled hair from her face. She'd neglected to braid her hair before settling down to rest.

"I'm thirsty."

"Oh. Of course." Taking a cup from the shelf Will had mounted on the wall for her, she lifted the cover off the water bucket and dipped some out for him. Returning to the bed, she sat beside him. "I'm going to help you lift your head." Gently, she placed her hand behind his neck and head. He stiffened at the touch, taking only a few sips. "Drink more please. You need the liquid."

He took hold of the cup, nearly tearing it from her, drinking more as she requested, some of the liquid splashing out onto his chest. When done, he shoved it back at her, returning to the pillow, muscles tense until she removed her hand. Then, she could see him relax, a visible clear movement of his muscles from a tense position into a lax one. The hand that wiped at the water he'd spilled trembled, whether from the muscular effort of raising his head or from emotion, she didn't know. She didn't ask.

Careful not to touch him, Christiana tucked the covers about him. "It's only me here. You've no need to fear. You're safe."

A grimace pulled at his lips as he shifted, pain flitting across his features. "I fear nothing."

"Mmm. Are you hungry? I could make some soup, or I have some bread."

"No. I don't want food."

Despite his assertion of fearing nothing, fear was evident in his voice, that and panic. She imagined he was feeling acutely helpless right now, at the mercy of an unknown woman, possibly more people. His words were choked from fear and panic, calm only in his mind, if even there. She had to make his waking hours as comfortable as she could while his eyes were swollen shut. Once the swelling went down and he could see, he wouldn't fear quite so much. Then, he'd be able to watch her and Will, when Will came to help.

She didn't think she'd be seeing much of Will though. Not right now. He'd be mulling over those thieves and deciding what he should do about them. He'd be occupied there and with Jocelyn, so she didn't think he'd be along for more than a minute or two. "I have a book. I could read to you, if you like."

He gulped in a breath, licked his lips. "You read? You know how?"

She had his interest, if only for a moment. "Yes. I was tutored with my lady." At the slight nod he gave, Christiana took the book from her table and settled down by the light to read.


	3. Chapter Three

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Title: Time Heals All

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Chapter: Three

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Author: Kasey

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Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

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Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

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Rating: PG-13 

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Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

****

Notes: My apologies on the recent lack of updates on this story. I've scrapped most of what I'd written in outline. The work progressing didn't want to go the way I'd written the outline, so I'm moving in a different direction with this than I'd originally planned.

~~~~~~~~~~

At first, the dim light hurt his eyes, but in gradual degrees he was able to surmise his surroundings. He was in a cottage, a small yet comfortably appointed one, and it was indeed a lone woman who tended him. Turning his head slightly on the pillow, he made out her form, small and curved. Her back was to him, long hair free to her hips.

The aches and pains of his body were horrible, though not as great as the last time he'd woken. By that, he concluded that he was getting better. He cleared his throat, wincing at that mistake when the action made him acutely aware how raw his throat was.

"Oh good. You're awake."

The woman turned and he found why her voice had seemed so familiar. Lady Jocelyn's maid, Christiana, was his nurse. He should have guessed, though years had passed since he'd last heard her voice. How many years was it? Two? Three maybe? The question distracted him from his hurts and he began counting the months since he'd spoken with her last. Let's see, he'd talked with her briefly, asking to see her lady, intending to give Jocelyn the news that Ulrich wasn't really Ulrich --

"I was beginning to think the fever had taken you after all."

Annoyance surfaced for the interruption of his thoughts. "Fever?" He didn't remember a fever.

"Yes. You developed it two nights ago, while I read to you. I looked up and you were so silent and still. You're skin...it was like there was a fire beneath it." She gave him a pleasant smile. "Obviously the fever has passed."

"Who brought me here?" Not that he really cared. It was conversation and conversation drew his mind from his hurts. 

"I did."

He could not roll his eyes well, so he settled on something between a snort and a laugh. "You? A lone woman?"

"And my lord," she added with a nod. "I have cared for you several days. You were unconscious for awhile."

Her lord. Did she still serve the Lady Jocelyn and was that one still wed to William Thatcher? He didn't know. Did it even matter at this point? He turned his face from her, rolling half onto his back despite the pain and staring at the ceiling. "Was I close to death?"

"Very."

Adhemar glanced back at her. "You should have let me die."

She sat at the bedside, taking a cloth from a basin of water and pressing it to his face. Blessed coolness. "Why?" Her voice was calm, so...concerned. As though she really cared. But she couldn't care because she didn't know him; didn't know that he deserved death.

He reached up, stilling her hand, using only his fingertips so as to touch as little of her skin as possible. "You have bathed me, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you know why." She had seen what they did to him. How could she not understand why death was preferable?

Gently, she returned his hand to his side, resuming her task. There was no spark of desire in her eyes, nothing that indicated she wanted anything from him, so he forced himself to not push her away. She'd spoken truth. She was caring for him, tending him as dispassionately as a person could. For a moment, she was silent, but then, she spoke.

"Women have had thus done to them and lived long lives. It is a matter of healing I believe: physical, emotional and spiritual."

"I don't want to heal. I want to die. I'm a man, a soldier. It should not have happened to me." He could hear his voice crack, the control he normally kept on himself in shambles and he forced himself to take deep breaths.

Brown eyes met his squarely. "Rape can happen to anyone, male or female."

He flinched at the word; it implied helplessness and Count Adhemar was not a helpless man. But...he _had_ been helpless. He'd been tied and beaten and whipped, starved and weakened. "Not to me. It can't happen to me." He bit out the words slowly, as though each was a sentence in itself. "Now leave me, girl."

She shook her head. "No. You still need care. I won't go. Besides," the cloth was set into the water, wrung out and moved to his chest. "This is my home. Where would I go were I to leave?"

Adhemar closed his eyes, remaining passive under the soothing pass of that cool cloth over his skin. She avoided the cuts, bathing his chest and arms slowly and efficiently. He found he could stay still as long as he didn't think of her hands against him. When he felt the brush of a fingertip, or graze of a knuckle, he stiffened. It wasn't something he could keep himself from doing, but rather an automatic reaction to touch. Any touch. The thought of another person's bare skin touching his was more than repulsive. He had to swallow back dry heaves.

"Your back needs looked at. Can you roll further onto your side for me?"

The effort to roll was great, the edges of the cuts pulling and he winced from it. Her touch was so soft he barely felt it, yet when she would have lowered the covers, he caught at her wrist. "Do not." His grip hurt her and he knew it, squeezing harder in an effort to deter her.

She gasped, fine brows raising, gaze frank. "The sooner you face it, the sooner you shall heal." Pain flashed in her eyes.

"Let me die. Do nothing for these cuts and let the fever take me."

"No. I won't sit here and watch you die. I've done enough of that in the past year."

"Damn you, wench!" Thrusting her away, he yanked the sheet high on his chest. She fell, hand knocking the basin over, the water splashing her skirts as she landed hard upon the floor. Christiana gave him a chiding glance, then got up, dusting her skirts and resettling them. After she had picked up the basin and cloth, she set them on the table. Placing her hands flat, she rested her weight upon her palms and inquired, "What happened to the man I know who'd be screaming for someone's blood?"

"That man wishes for death. I deserve to die, to go into that darkness!"

"How did the thieves get you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Silence, girl!"

"Had your self-destructive tendencies made you careless? Do you blame yourself for the deaths of your men as well as the abuse heaped upon you?"

"Stop," he forced through gritted teeth. She was right. It was his fault. He'd been careless and men had died. His capture hadn't been distressing at first. No, he'd welcomed the beatings, the whippings that stripped flesh from his body and brought him that much closer to the welcome arms of that numb void death. But then he realized they didn't intend to kill him. "Hateful wench."

Memories rushed forth and he turned his face into the pillow. He bit his lip until it bled and the pain made the memories retreat. He didn't want to look back at it, didn't want to acknowledge what had happened. "Leave me," he whispered. "Please just go."

She picked up the book and began to read aloud, her voice drowning out the sounds of his own sobs.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn leaned against the wall, not making her presence known. She rubbed her belly with her palms, hands moving in soothing motions as she listened to the exchange inside the cottage. She'd not gotten down to Christiana's home the day she'd wanted to. No, there had been other matters to attend to, so she'd waited. Now, she wasn't certain coming here was a good idea. Despair was a shadow over the tiny cottage, like a permanent cloud settled above it in the sky, blotting out the sun.

She'd brought a basket of goodies freshly baked from the cook and a new embroidery pattern that a merchant had brought, intending on coaxing Christiana into the out of doors for a little while. The day was warm, the air fragrant with wildflowers. A perfect day for a chat. The walk was slow and pleasant. It felt good to be outside, moving about and Jocelyn had taken her time, carefully paying attention to any twinges or aches in her body that would tell her she needed to rest.

She'd paused before knocking at the half-open door, paused at the voices. It was a private conversation, one that should not be over heard, but she couldn't force herself to move until it was done.

__

Women have had thus done to them....

Horror filled her at what the words meant, a deep sympathetic pain for the man. She wouldn't wish such a thing upon her worst enemy. He wanted to die. She'd want to die as well, were it her.

Christiana was calm, her voice soothing. Adhemar began to cry. Jocelyn's eyes went wide and she raised a hand to her mouth, biting on a finger to keep from crying out herself. His sobs were almost loud enough to drown out Christiana's reading. Almost, but not quite. In a way, that was what affected her the most.

Sickened by what she'd found out, Jocelyn returned to the manor and spent the rest of the day in bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The courtyard was filled with men, many Will knew and many he didn't. Some were from this manor and some were from the town down the road. They were all here on his request, all here to do his bidding. He glanced them over, young and old alike, and saw they were more than up to this task, eager to do it.

"We'll take sections, slowly and as quietly as we can, moving outward from these grounds. I've sent men to their nest and it's been abandoned, but there have been reports that the thieves still roam here. We'll find them."

"Then what?" A voice called from the crowd.

He gave a grim little smile. "Then we kill them. I'll not have thieves here if I can prevent it, not with what I know them capable of doing."

And so they rode out, some on horseback and most on foot. Wat rode with him, out in the front of the line of men.

"It was an omen, Will," he said, shaking his head. "We're not meant to be here. We should go home."

Will sighed, rolling his eyes. "Stop that sort of talk. There's no omen. Adhemar was unfortunate, that's all." That he knew precisely what Wat was referring to made him straighten his spine a bit. He could have been referring to anything, from Jocelyn's last miscarriage, the recent deaths from fever or even the cows that had died almost overnight, but Will had jumped right to Adhemar. It's what Wat was thinking. The attack on Adhemar was a warning, an omen that they'd made a wrong move in coming here. 

He was not going to resort to superstition. There was no strange force at work here. The move here to Jocelyn's family home had been hard on them, that's all. Nothing more. It was silly to think that witches and demons were working on them. Wasn't it?

A tiny part of him didn't think so. A tiny part of him agreed wholeheartedly with Wat, thinking that maybe, just maybe, they'd made a mistake.

"We should have stayed home, Will. You've been thinking it and so have I. Kate's talking about leaving and Christiana..." he paused. "She's become...strange." Wat made a face when he said the word, as though unable to convey what he meant by the word alone.

"We're not having this conversation. Christiana is perfectly well."

"Will, she talks to herself. And not only that, she pauses and answers like she's carrying on a conversation with someone who isn't there. I wouldn't call that being 'perfectly well'."

He had a point. Christiana did talk to herself. "People react strangely to grief." The look Wat gave him indicated that the man thought Will was living in a dream world. "Really, Wat, they do. We all behave differently. When Roland died, you stopped fighting, stopped losing your hold on your temper. You weren't yourself."

"It's hard to enjoy something when one of your closest friends isn't around to egg you on."

"Precisely. Now, think about it. Roland was Christiana's husband and they loved each other dearly. It's not strange to me that she should have trouble letting him go. I know I'd have trouble were Jocelyn to die."

"I'll think about it." And so he did, keeping quiet for a space of time, then returning to the subject. "She could be mourning, I'll give you that, but there's a chance, and hear me out, Will. There's a chance that there's something really wrong with her, like wrong in the head. I think she's touched."

Will glanced at his friend, then behind them. The men still walked and he didn't think any were close enough to be privy to the conversation. "Even if she is, I won't abandon her. She's part of the household, Wat."

"I'm not saying we should abandon her. God knows Christiana patched me up a few times and I'm grateful she did. I'd hate to see her go. What I mean is that, if you won't consider going home, we should watch her closely for...you know...other _signs_."

"Signs?" Will raised his brows. He knew where this was going. Wat had been on a demon and witch kick lately, resorting to superstition to explain the things that had plagued them in recent months. No one could convince him that they hadn't been cursed and unfortunately, Father Michel only fanned the flames, mumbling about mysterious lights in the woods. The only lights in the woods Will suspected were those of the thieves.

They weren't under demonic attack, or hexed by a witch. At least, he didn't think they were. He couldn't think of anyone who'd hate them that much. Of course, a man could have enemies he was unaware of couldn't he?

"Possession, Will. Think about it. Talking to herself, wandering about the grounds at night. She's creepy."

Will snorted. "Wat, will you listen to yourself? This is Christiana we're talking about. She goes to mass, goes to confession. She's just in mourning. Besides, she seems to be improving. She's got Adhemar to talk to."

"Doesn't mean she's talking to _him_." Wat shook his head. "Forget it. Father Michel has been talking again and he's about got me convinced there's sinister forces about."

Will stopped his mount, leaned to Wat when he stopped as well. "Listen. The only sinister force here is that nest of thieves. Get rid of them and that air of hopelessness will fade away as a morning mist under the rays of the sun. They've preyed on these lands for nearly a year I've been told, raping and stealing and burning. It's no wonder people have settled into despair. Now, I've no explanation for the cows or a few other things, but this I can say for certain. We get rid of these thieves and fortunes will turn in some way."

After a moment, Wat nodded. "I hope you're right."

"I am." Will fervently hoped he was, because if he was wrong, this could end very badly for them all. 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Four

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Notes: 

~~~~~~~~~~

Blood. So much blood.

He was covered in blood. Will closed his eyes and tried not to think about that fact. They'd cornered several of the thieves by the creek and not one had lived long. There were still three thieves on the loose, but the band was greatly wounded. Should he feel remorse for this? Should he feel some vast sadness for taking lives?

Visions of Adhemar as he and Christiana had found him swam before his closed lids and he opened his eyes to dispel that image, still sickened by it. No. No sadness, no regret. This was right and just. No man was going to hurt these people any longer if he could help it. He allowed no torture, though many of the men with him wanted such. Repayment, they said. Repayment for the wrongs that had been perpetrated upon them these long months of terror. Will wouldn't allow it. They were better than these thieves and they'd show mercy in the manner of quick deaths for the crimes committed.

Stepping to the creek, Will knelt, plunging his hands in the icy cold water and washing them. Red clouded the water and he stared at it curiously, strangely detached from himself, like there was a stranger controlling his body and he was merely a passenger within. Like Pontius Pilate, he washed blood from his hands, only this blood wasn't innocent. It was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. He'd killed. He'd actually killed men today. Strange how he'd not thought about how he'd feel when it was done. There was a numbness falling over him. Was this how it felt? Was the sheer rage he'd felt while slaying the thieves normal? It was too bad Adhemar was not better. He'd ask him. Perhaps there was something the two of them had in common after all, besides Jocelyn.

His hands shook and he gulped in mouthfuls of air in an effort to calm himself.

Will blinked, removing his coat and holding it up. The bloodstains on the fabric would never come out. Likewise, his white shirt, now streaked and stained. He couldn't go home and let Jocelyn see him like this. She didn't need to see the blood, to know what he'd done. She didn't need to know that he'd taken lives.

It was necessary, his mind said calmly. She'll understand.

She may understand, he countered silently, but how can she not see me differently? No. Jocelyn won't know.

Dear God in heaven above forgive me for what I've done today!

He leaned forward a bit. The water reflected his face and he saw a man looking back that he did not recognize. Oh, it was still his face, but there was something in the expression that Will didn't like. It took a moment to identify it and when he did, he choked back a cry.

Self-loathing. The same expression he'd once seen on Adhemar's face years ago.

Getting to his feet, Will staggered into the relative privacy of the nearby bushes. The noon meal made a second, less appealing, appearance.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was evening by the time Will and company returned to the manor, Will breaking away from the group to stop at Christiana's cottage. Peeking his head in, he saw that Adhemar was awake, but silent, staring at the wall. Christiana was talking soothingly to him. Will tread to the bedside. Both pairs of eyes raised to him.

"All but three of the thieves are dead. The final three will be hunted down over the next days until they are found."

Adhemar gave him a stare, puzzlement taking the despair from those orbs. "_You_ killed them?" The emphasis was placed as though he couldn't believe William Thatcher would do that.

Will nodded, giving the barest of glances towards Christiana when she gasped. "Yes. I did." He hated having to admit it aloud, to say clear that he had killed.

The man's gaze fell. Will hadn't expected any words of thanks and was actually grateful that none were issued. It wasn't for Adhemar that he'd killed the thieves, but for the people and his own family. The safety of the household at large. "Did it feel good, Thatcher? Did they ask for mercy? Did they beg you for it?" In the questions asked was something deeper, a tone that was breathless and eager for the answer.

"Their mercy was a quick death for each. It's done. I'll bring word when the last are in their graves as well."

Adhemar struggled to sit, flinching hard from Christiana when she reached out a hand to steady him. "Are they buried, Thatcher?" An urgency now in that hoarse voice as well.

Will shook his head. He'd not had any arguments from the men with him all day in that regard. Let the thieves rot where they fell. They weren't decent men to receive consecrated ground for their final rest. Their souls could wander forever, lost and unable to find peace. It was amazing to Will how satisfied that thought made him feel. "No. No consecrated graves for them. No priest to say prayers over their bodies. Their graves are where they fell from our swords and arrows." He watched Adhemar sink back down on the pillows and close his eyes with the air of a man who has physically exhausted himself.

Christiana came to Will, laid a tender hand on his arm, looking him over. He managed not to flinch as Adhemar had done, but he couldn't help thinking that merely coming near him would mark anyone with the dark deed he'd done that day. "You've got blood on you, Will."

"I know. I tried to wash it off --"

"Blood you've spilled will stain you forever, Thatcher. I know." Adhemar didn't move, or open his eyes.

Christiana steered Will outside the door of the cottage. "I could give you one of Roland's shirts to wear. They're packed away, but wouldn't be too difficult to take out."

Concern in her eyes. Will cupped her face in his hands, kissed her forehead. "You are an angel. I'll take that shirt." He waited outside the cottage, watching nothing in particular, his gaze roaming about the landscape before him. The men had returned to their homes and Wat gone on to the manor house. He was grateful for the time he'd ride alone. He needed to think, to ruminate upon the situation. _All_ situations. There was not just Adhemar to consider and the rest of the thieves. There was Jocelyn and the superstitions abounding, the latter flames that were being fanned by the old priest.

Life had never been this difficult for Will. He'd always been the one taking orders until Sir Hector died. It was a common thought that nobles had it easy. They had servants to do things for them and didn't answer to anyone. How wrong that assumption was. Nobles answered to their families, to the Crown....He sighed. There were responsibilities he'd never been aware of and now he had to fulfill them all. Will didn't have only seven people to care for, he had an entire household and the peasants on all the lands he'd inherited through Jocelyn being the last of her family. He had more on his plate then he'd ever imagined he'd have. And it was terribly daunting. At times he wanted to weep from it all and gnash his teeth at the frustration of learning to deal with each new thing in such rapid succession. 

"It's obviously not your own shirt," Christiana remarked, coming back out the door and holding the shirt up to him. She gave him a tiny smile. "But, it will suffice long enough to get you back to the manor."

He took the proffered garment, careful not to let it touch his shirt, though the stains on the white fabric were long dried. "Am I tainted now, Christiana?"

She looked up at him a long moment. "Walk with me a moment." Their path took them to the well, where she drew up a bucket of water before speaking. "If you believe yourself irrevocably changed by the slaying of evil men, then you will be. Let me ask you a question, Will. Would those men have stopped their evil if you'd let them continue on? Would the burning of the fields and the homes have stopped? Would the rapes and the tortures of these people have stopped?"

He shook his head to each one. No, the men wouldn't have stopped. They'd have continued on until all was in ruins and moved on to the next area.

"Were they repentant when you found them? Did they cry out for mercy or did they curse you for finding them out?" She waited while he shook his head and muttered 'curse'. "You administered justice and you let these people have a voice in that. I don't see a different man before me than the William Thatcher I've come to know. The very fact that you feel remorse over this tells me that you are still you."

He set the shirt he carried on the well edge and sighed, stripping off the soiled shirt as he spoke. "I'm glad I killed them though. Doesn't that path taken me in the direction of Adhemar? Think about it, Christiana. He wasn't always the man he ended up. Once, he was like me --"

She shook her head, lifting the bucket and pouring it into another bucket, one she'd carry to the cottage. "Count Adhemar was never like you, Will. His heart was never in the same place as yours. Don't you fret about turning into Adhemar. Some men seem to be born with battle in their blood and some are born with the desire to prevent the battle in the first place. He is the first. You, are the second. You would avoid battle if you could, but when faced with it as a certainty, you refuse to back down or accept defeat." Christiana hefted the filled bucket. "Think on that Sir Will, then answer your own questions."

He pulled on the fresh shirt, watched her slim form return to the cottage.

~~~~~~~~~~

There were visitors he saw, when he returned. Or _a_ visitor rather. Jocelyn was in the great hall, looking more lively than she had in months. She was smiling and laughing. "Will! Come over here. I'd like you to meet Duke Gilles Fortier. He was my father's closest friend. Last I heard, he'd gone to Italy and he's back!"

The man who came halfway across the hall to greet him was tall and lean, with close cropped black hair and beard. He moved with the lithe grace of a man half his apparent age, his eyes assessing Will coolly before extending a warm greeting. "Pleased to meet the famous William Thatcher."

Will felt a flush heat his cheeks, shaking his head. "No fame really."

"Oh yes," Fortier grinned, an almost wolfish show of white teeth. "Fame. The young man who found quick favor with Prince Edward, earned the respect of a bevy of knights at tournament and whipped that upstart Adhemar in the joust. You're quite famous boy -- in certain circles."

"Gilles. Quit teasing," Jocelyn admonished gently, shaking her head.

Will was surprised when the man laughed, clapped him on the back and ushered him over to the chairs where he and Jocelyn had been sitting. The Duke refused another chair. "I'll stand. I can't remain much longer anyway. I only stopped on my way home to offer my condolences to Jocelyn for the death of her relatives." The familiar use of names told Will that this man was practically family to Jocelyn. "That and to offer aid in apprehending the thieves I hear have been about. We've always had a problem here with them. There are far too many hiding places about the woods for them to scurry into."

Will glanced cautiously towards Jocelyn, who was frowning as she studied him, her gaze lingering on the shirt Christiana had loaned him. He cleared his throat. "We've captured all but three. The leader is still free."

Reaching out a hand, Jocelyn caught the shirt and yanked, tugging him half from the chair, bringing him to her. "This isn't what you left wearing, Will. Where is your shirt and coat?"

Will didn't want to tell her. Rescue from doing so, however, came from their guest.

"Probably torn and muddied, I'm afraid, Jocelyn. Apprehending thieves is dirty work and they tend to take exception to being caught." He raised his brows at Will as though to say 'And that is how you deflect such questions, my boy.' "I myself have lost many a coat and shirt over the years due to such hunts. Don't you recall Henry and I going out?"

Jocelyn was quickly distracted by her memories. "Yes, of course I do. Father would fume and snort at the loss of clothes and you'd all come back in high spirits until the next group of thieves came along, to which you'd run out and come back....The same story over and over. I'd hoped it had all ended by now. I don't particularly like having Will go out like father did." She released her hand on Will's shirt, smoothing her skirts in a prim fashion. "Perhaps father was right and there's a more organized band of thieves set here. It would explain how they seem to persist."

Fortier snorted, crossing his arms. "Henry was amazingly quick to take credit for an idea that was not his, my dear. I've said for years that the thieves had to be part of a larger, organized band. Henry claimed differently. How like him to claim my idea once I was gone."

Will held his breath at the remark. Jocelyn was rather protective of her parents and became upset at the slightest noise of displeasure over them. He was once more surprised by his bride when she laughed, rolling her eyes. 

"That's what mother said. She wrote to us that father had a change in ideas suddenly once your baggage wagons had disappeared over the hill and into the woods." Jocelyn leaned back in her chair, hands pressing at her belly. "Oh, I do wish I could sit for one minute without an ache all about."

Fortier's expression shifted, concern playing upon his features before he went to Jocelyn and knelt. "You are feeling well, aren't you? Don't lie either. I want the truth." His gaze was keen, the alarm Will noted quickly masked.

Her glance at Will was more than a little guilty. "I'm tired quite a bit."

"Normal," Fortier said, clasping one of her hands and doing a wicked impression of Father Michel hearing confession.

"I ache everywhere even though I've not done anything."

"That's probably why you're aching. Go on. Tell Gilles everything."

"You're not a midwife, Gilles, or even a physician." Jocelyn cast a pleading look at Will, who crossed his arms and returned a blank stare. Let her try and squirm out from under this man's questions like she did his. Just try, my love. Just try.

"Yes, but I have several children and am familiar with the many aspects of childbirth. The pleasant and unpleasant both. I have experience in the matter. My first child was delivered by me without the benefit of a midwife present."

Jocelyn was squirming in her seat like a naughty child caught in the act of mischief. Will found himself becoming amused by it, a laugh forming in his chest, which he coughed to cover. Fortier winked in his direction and Will managed another cough quickly as the laughter kept bubbling forth.

"Gilles, please." A flush was staining her cheeks, her eyes widening.

The man raised both brows so high that they fair disappeared into his hairline. "Why Jocelyn, are you embarrassed?"

"You know very well I am. Here I'd hoped you wouldn't tease me about anything because you were being perfectly lovely and then Will came in and you--"

A serious gaze was turned to Will. "How am I teasing, William? Enquiring about her health? Or mentioning my children?"

Will shrugged. "I've not one idea, sir."

Jocelyn snatched her hand from Gilles'. "Oh! I saw that wink, you beast! Leave me be!"

For the barest flash of a second, the expression on the two faces were uncannily alike, but then that brief moment passed and Will was left wondering if he'd imagined it. Just then, if Will hadn't known Jocelyn's parents, he would have sworn that the two were father and daughter.

Fortier stood, giving Jocelyn's cheek a fond pat as he did. "Well, I must be going. Take very good care of yourself, child. I do not want to have to bury you as well." His head turned, and Will was fixated with a piercing stare. "Show me out, William, yes?"

Will nodded. He took a moment to kiss Jocelyn before following the man outside. Once there, he was assaulted by a rapid barrage of questions.

"How far along is she? Has she been having problems? Does she have a history of problems? Has a midwife seen her recently?" Fortier sputtered to a stop and Will saw that he was upset, spots of color darkening his cheekbones. The man glanced up at the brilliant blue of the sky, taking a deep breath. "My apologies, William. Jocelyn is dear to me."

"She's dear to me as well," Will said. "She has had difficulties carrying and she's seven months give or take a week or so. This time she's not had any unusual pains that I'm aware of and we all try and keep her calm. The midwife visits her daily, and Christiana tried to assess her condition every week."

"Christiana is here as well?" Relief on his face. "Good. I'd worried on her also."

Will licked his lips, uncertain as to what to make of this man. He was the nearest neighbor and he vaguely remembered Jocelyn's mother mentioning his name in a letter or two. Admittedly, Will hadn't paid much attention to the letters Jocelyn read out loud to him. Her mother had written mostly of gossip of people even Jocelyn didn't remember and of the latest embroidery pattern she'd bought. He did remember Jocelyn mentioning this man's name in a rather 'would you listen to this amazing thing' tone. Of course, he'd managed to not hear whatever the subject had been. "Jocelyn is well. Really. She's being exceedingly careful this time, staying inside resting when I know she'd rather be outside."

They began walking, the Duke smiling. "Her mother was like that too. Henry and I had the hardest time keeping her from running about the countryside. Jocelyn is so much like her mother it's frightening. Gabrielle was also one of most sought after maidens at tournament when we were young." He sighed. "Jocelyn is luckier than her mother. She got to marry the man she preferred."

"She didn't want to marry Jocelyn's father?"

Fortier walked slowly, staring at the ground. He was lost in his thoughts, speaking softly. "She didn't want to marry Henry. In fact, she refused to eat for three days after the decision was made, swearing she'd run herself through with a sword before marrying him. She wanted her lover, not Henry. In the end, she consented."

"I didn't think she was unhappy. Her letters were always cheerful." It was hard to imagine plump Gabrielle as a young woman Jocelyn's age, but Will pictured her as resembling her daughter. The woman had always mentioned that Jocelyn was just like she'd been.

"She wasn't unhappy, not after a long while. She had Jocelyn and settled into her role as Henry's wife. She was a remarkable woman." 

They continued walking until Will was stopped by a hand on his arm. He glanced up. The older man's expression was thoughtful, his eyes on something across the courtyard.

"Who," he asked in a low voice, "is that perfectly exquisite creature?"

A brief look in that direction showed Kate petting one of the horses, her hand smoothing in slow strokes. As Fortier had said 'who', Will didn't think he meant the horse, so logically, he had to be indicating Kate. Will's mind struggled to switch topics so quickly. Kate? Exquisite? "That's Kate."

"Mmm. Kate." An appreciative eye ran along her, lingering. "The maker of that armor of yours?"

Will nodded his head at the questioning brow. "Yes."

"How delightful to find a fellow connoisseur."

What the devil was the man talking about? "I'm sorry?"

A startled glance his way, then an apologetic and somewhat sheepish grin. "I'm the sorry one, William. Sometimes I forget that my thought processes aren't always blindingly obvious to all around me. You've surrounded yourself with beautiful women I mean. Smart boy. I've a tendency towards that myself."

"I didn't do so intentionally." Kate beautiful? Will turned to regard her, unaware that he was gawking at the woman. He'd never really thought of Kate in the context of full woman before. She'd been a temporary blacksmith first, a dance instructor second, and finally a steadfast friend. Will hadn't thought of Kate as beautiful in a physical sense. Was she? Well...maybe. Her skin did have a flawless quality that wasn't often seen in peasant women. Her person was always as neatly attired and decently groomed as she could manage and her figure was rather pleasing to contemplate.

Will decided he could see it after all.

"Tell me about her." A trace of steel in Fortier's words, making them an order.

Will shrugged. What did the man want to know? While he'd known Kate for around three years, she'd kept many things about herself private. He'd assumed it was either from habit or that Kate simply liked keeping privacy. Will could understand both reasons. Some things just needed to remain private. "I know little to tell, really. Kate likes her privacy. She reveals only little things at long intervals."

There was a hungry gleam in Fortier's eyes, like that of a man half starved eying a meal being set out. Will chewed his lip. Would Kate welcome the attentions of this man? How should he know? Kate had been oblivious to nearly all the men that had looked her over since he'd known her. Several times he'd seen her distract Wat with a well-placed tidbit of pastry. Perhaps it would give her something to occupy her time besides the distressing lack of customers for her business.

"You could go to her yourself. Come back a day when you can stay longer." As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Will realized that there was a hint of disrespect in them, but Fortier only nodded sagely.

"Wise advice, William. I'll return another day." Solemn green eyes turned to him. "Take care of Jocelyn. And Christiana. Please."

"Of course." Will watched the man go, mulling over the conversation. But then Kate was hailing him and he abandoned the conversation into memory.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Five

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473yahoo.com

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

* * *

Count Adhemar tossed and turned in the narrow bed he'd been given, wrestling with the horrible nightmares that turned his dreams into a battlefield. It seemed he couldn't close his eyes now without some reminder of what had happened to him. No longer would his mind let him simply escape into numbness. There was a distressing clarity to his dreams that made him wonder once more if he had indeed died and found his way into hell.

But then Christiana would wake him, her gentle hand staying on him only long enough to check his forehead for heat and to make certain he'd woken fully and couldn't slide quickly back into dreams. She'd become a ministering angel of sorts, friendly and detached, all he ever could have hoped for in a nurse. Occasionally, Thatcher would slip in, give him a glance and ask Christiana to step outside. Adhemar found that if he stayed still enough, their conversations would sometimes filter in through the window and he could listen to entertain himself.

The things Thatcher wanted to discuss were mundane usually, boring matters dealing with the running of a manor house. He learned that Jocelyn was pregnant and that her parents had died. He heard all about the animals that died and the health problems that plagued the people. He even learned that Christiana had both married and buried a man since he'd last seen her. She gave counsel in a quiet tone and Adhemar couldn't quite find it within himself to sneer at the man taking a woman's advice in his duties. In fact, he couldn't find much to sneer at all any more.

Sneering took an effort he no longer wanted to make. Why bother when he could find no pleasure in it? That word. Pleasure. It was absent from his life now. Adhemar could find no pleasure or enjoyment in anything. His own tortured thoughts kept him prisoner. Christiana tried to entertain him. She read to him, told him stories and jokes and all he could do was stare at her.

Life was something to be tolerated and he wished another fever would take him and carry him to his grave. Death was preferable to this constant remembrance of what had occurred.

He rolled onto his side, watched the woman through the door. She was washing clothes, having placed herself in such a position that all she had to do was turn her head to see him. Every so often, she'd glance his way, then return to her task. A sigh left him, not too loud however. He didn't want her rushing in and demanding to know if he was fine. He wasn't fine. He was so far from fine that it was ridiculous to even ask that question.

Physically, he was healing, the slightest of the wounds on his body long faded away, including the bruises. The worst of the wounds were scabbing and Christiana had kept him from having too much trouble with infection, cleaning his wounds far better than any surgeon he'd ever had tend him. Yes, those wounds were going away, but what of the others?

The sheet was grasped by one hand, tugged higher upon his chest. Don't think about it. Forget it.

He couldn't forget it though!

He turned his thoughts to his family, forced himself to consider them. Did they know where he was? Had Thatcher thought to send them a message? Perhaps he'd venture to ask the man the next time he appeared here. Were his brothers well? It occurred to him that he hadn't the slightest idea how Simon, Stephen, Timothy and Raine were. He'd not seen them in long months. A frown pulled at his brow. Months? No, it was years. The last time he'd seen any of them had been before the tournament year and before his life was turned upside down by a peasant man.

God help me, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to rest.

* * *

Kate cast a forlorn gaze about the space Will had provided her to work from. Optimistic, that one. Of course, she'd been so as well at first. Her armor had been well received and she had more work than she could keep up with. But then the novelty wore off. She faced the same problem she had after her husband died. No one wanted a woman blacksmith, not even one that revolutionized the way armor was made. Well, aside from Will. He still brought his business to her exclusively.

The people here didn't trust her. They still patronized that pig of a man Coris.

That's not entirely true, she thought to herself. If they need a farris, they might come by and peer in at me before going back to him.

She'd contemplated leaving a score of times at least. Triple the number if she was truthful, but she didn't really want to leave her friends. They'd become her family and Kate couldn't imagine life without all of them. It was hard enough without Roland there every day. The loss of that one should, in theory, have brought Kate and Christiana closer together as friends. It hadn't. Though Kate understood how the woman felt, Christiana seemed to want to keep the distance between them. That was fine, she guessed.

A sigh escaped her and she clasped her arms about her legs. The pings and gentle hisses of Coris working carried along the air. He kept suggesting she marry him and Kate couldn't suppress the great shudder that worked through her at the thought. She couldn't imagine marrying that man and being subjected to his cruel whims. They were cruel too. He'd marked up many a maid and threatened all around so they wouldn't go to Will about it. Will was liked, but Coris was feared and fear won out over like every day. Even Kate was not immune to the threats.

She slept in a tiny room off her work space, not in the manor, though Jocelyn had attempted to entice her to come to the manor when Christiana had asked for a cottage all her own. Kate had refused and now Coris could terrorize her all he liked in the night if he wished and no one would come to her aid. So, she gave him no reason to hurt her, minding her own business and praying until his regard turned to another woman, however briefly that time lasted.

Coris was an ugly man, with lank blond hair, greasy pockmarked skin and eyes so small that they nearly disappeared in the fleshy folds of his face. One arm was as big around as Kate's waist. He smelled of smoke, rancid grease and sour sweat, his tunic invariably stained with the remnants of his most recent meal. Rudeness was his way of life and his remarks were of a crudeness verging on sheer vulgarity. In short, not the sort of man Kate wanted to contemplate being shackled to for any period of time.

She rested her cheek on her knees. When had she become this way? When had her spirit slipped away and despondency crept into its place? There was no real time when Kate could pinpoint for this turn; no one thing that brought her to this place. She could gaze into the past all she liked. It wouldn't change the fact that she felt stifled and listless.

My hope has gone from me, she thought, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. How did this happen? I was happy a year ago, wasn't I? How did I come to this point?

A shadow fell across her and she looked up.

Framed in the doorway was a man. For one second, she thought it was Coris, but then her mind registered that this man was far too slim to be Coris. This man was tall, his build lean. His hair framed a somewhat craggy face. A neat beard accentuated the firm line of his jaw and his nose was Patrician. The face was not unhandsome though and Kate gave him one last appreciative glance before standing to make her presence known.

His stare found her and the smile he favored upon her was warm without being leering, a welcome difference from Coris' offensive grins. This man seemed delighted to see her. "Mistress Kate?" His voice was the sort that slid sensuously over the skin and curled about the limbs; one that she could easily listen to for hours.

She swallowed with a mouth that had gone strangely dry in seconds. "I'm Kate, yes." Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and Kate tried to make sense of her awareness of this man. He'd only walked in the door and she was feeling.... The word whispered in her mind. _Attracted_.

The man sauntered to her, lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to it's back. His beard tickled her skin just a little and Kate had the urge to snatch her hand back so he wouldn't note her bitten nails or the calluses on her palms. "Duke Gilles Fortier. Very pleased to make your acquaintance at last." Pinpricks of pleasure tingled where his lips had touched.

If charm was water, this man had bathed in it thoroughly. Kate managed a confused smile as she extricated her hand from his much larger one. "Pleased, my lord?"

"Yes." He perused her appreciatively. "I saw you in the courtyard the other day. William suggested I return when my household had settled and meet you."

She froze. Will was inviting men to meet her? What was he thinking? He'd better not be thinking about marrying her off. If he was, he was going to get an earful. Kate may not have kept a man's company in years, but she wasn't going to be pressed into doing so. "Really." What on earth was the point of this man meeting her?

Fortier took a few steps to the right, his attention straying about the work area. His steps continued forward around her and in less than a minute, he'd given himself a tour of her home and work place. "Yes." Returning before her, he put his hands on his hips and grinned good naturedly. "Does that make you angry?"

Kate gaped, struggling to keep her mouth from falling open at such directness. "Should it?"

His grin widened. "Not at all."

She crossed her arms. "I'm sorry my lord, did you say you needed a farris or a blacksmith?"

"I didn't, but I like a woman who knows where to lead a conversation." He glanced at the ground as though gathering his thought and when he looked back at her, his gaze had gone serious. "I'm in a position to need armor for my men and myself. I've been gone for a long while and the rumor of a woman smith intrigued me. Even more intriguing was that light armor that woman created. William assures me you are that woman smith. I'd like to acquire your services, Mistress Kate. I'll pay you well and if your work is as good as William claims, I'll have other work for you as well."

Kate looked at her dusty tools, then back at him. "What sort of other work?" In her experience, when men said 'other work' they didn't mean smith work, but rather work on her back in their bedchambers. She wasn't a prostitute and was hardly going to start that line of work now, even if this man did make her insides melt with one word.

"Smith work. Swords. The like." That grin returned. "I won't proposition you, Mistress Kate." A raised brow. "Unless, of course, you proposition me first. Then, all bets are off."

Should she jump at this offer? That was her first inclination. Taking this job would mean being away from Coris. It would mean money to live on. She wouldn't have to feel she was living on Will's charity any longer. She could pay him back for the kindness he'd shown her. However, a prudent move would be to discuss the offer with Will first. After all, everyone thought she was his farris, not friend. She would be expected to talk with him on the offer. Besides, his counsel was always welcome. "I'll need to discuss it with Sir Will."

Fortier nodded. "I'll be back for your answer in a few days, then."

Kate expected him to go, but he only stood there, watching her. "What?" she blurted out.

He didn't speak for a moment, his eyes narrowing a tiny bit and head tilting to the right. He seemed to be considering something. "Although.... Would you care to walk with me for a bit? You don't seem to have much in the way of work at the moment. We could walk up to the manor, stroll the garden. I need to be visiting Jocelyn this afternoon anyway. You could have your meeting with William while I see Jocelyn." He licked his lips, a slow draw of his tongue.

Kate found her gaze following that movement. What would it hurt to take a stroll with him? As he'd pointed out, she didn't have any work to occupy her time and she could get to know him; begin to understand why she was instantly attracted to him.

"We could have it all settled in a few hours and you could begin work tomorrow."

"If --" she began.

"If it's agreed upon," he amended, stretching his hand out to her in invitation. "Please. I would enjoy your company."

His fingers were lean and long, a well shaped hand and Kate placed her own on top of it. She didn't think about it anymore, she just did it. There'd be time enough later to analyze her motives and time later to wonder why he was even interested in her at all.

* * *

Christiana was not surprised to see Gilles Fortier on the property. He'd been a long time friend of Jocelyn's parents and had often visited over the years. She watched as he and Kate strolled towards the manor house. It seemed that some things hadn't changed. He still managed to charm a woman into walking with him.

She smiled. She'd lived with the Fortier family until old enough to be trained to serve Jocelyn, an orphan they'd graciously taken in. Gilles had always treated her like family, despite his father's constant belittling of her. Though young at the time, she still remembered those two arguing about her status. Gilles had carried her about, snuck her sweets and played games with her and the other children. He'd taken her to see Jocelyn and gently instructed her to remain there and learn all that she could.

He'd played the father role she'd never truly had.

When would he come to see her? He'd know, through his many sources, that she was acting as a nurse and wouldn't want to bother her. Perhaps she'd send word that she'd like to see him again.

Taking the dry linens off the rope they hung on, Christiana took them inside her cottage and carried on with her chores.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Six

Author: Kasey

Email: kasey8473yahoo.com

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

* * *

"I'm quite capable of doing this myself," Adhemar snarled at Christiana, shoving her hands away. With an exasperated snort, she crossed her arms and waited. Infuriating woman. If he wanted to get out of bed, he'd do so, but no, she'd decided to bully him into getting up. She needed to wash the sheets, she claimed. The sheets were fine in his opinion. A little dirt wouldn't hurt him.

'Then do it. I don't have all day, Count."

She was peeved with him. What was new in that? As the days progressed, she'd become more and more waspish, demanding he speak or move or do something besides stare at the walls and ceiling. What was wrong with staring at those things? They were calming things that required little or no thought and he could remain blessedly numb.

Moving was a trial that required effort, a working of muscles that were frighteningly weak. Despite his claim of ability, he greatly doubted he _could_ do this himself. However, he still held a stubborn streak within himself that wanted to prove to her that he could get out of bed and stand on his own two feet.

I'll show her, he thought. I may be ill, but I'm not helpless.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't helpless. He'd never allow himself to be helpless again.

Adhemar swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. He turned a sulky glare up at her. "Clothes."

Christiana pointed to the chair set near the end of the bed. "There."

The trousers were dragged to him and he took his time drawing them on. It was difficult doing so with the sheet still wrapped about him, but he managed. The shirt was next, smelling faintly of wildflowers. He went to roll the sleeves up his arms a bit and stopped, holding his hands out before his eyes. The bones stood out sharply under skin that was sickly pale and he could not believe that those hands were his. They were though. They were attached to his wrists, his wrists to his arms and those arms to his torso. Those hands were his.

Sniffing, he went on with his task, trying to keep his thoughts on this woman and her unreasonable order that he move from the bed for awhile. Did she not realize that he'd rather sleep? He'd rather go down into the land of dreams where occasionally he could escape from the nightmares than to be awake with his memories scratching at the back of his mind.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and he started, throwing himself backward. "What?"

"Ready?"

She'd been talking to him apparently. That happened sometimes. She'd be talking to him and he wouldn't even notice. One part of his mind thought he should be alarmed at that, yet another couldn't muster the will to be bothered. Who cared? It wasn't like she actually cared for him anyway. She was simply doing a duty assigned to her by her lord. After all, Thatcher was nobility now. He'd been so for...three years, was it?

"Of course I'm ready."

"Then stand."

"Don't rush me."

"I'm not rushing you."

He glared at her. "You are."

Christiana sighed. "You can spend hours arguing this point, but when you're done, you are still going to get up from that bed and walk over to that chair by the window, with or without my help."

"I don't need your help. I can do this by myself."

Still, he didn't move, looking about the cottage as though he hadn't seen it before. He studied the fireplace, where a pot of water simmered. Then, he looked at the table still set with the remains of their noon meal. She had sewing sitting on top of the trunk by the door. Finally, he made an experimental shifting of his weight onto his feet, shoving upward with his arms.

It was harder than he'd thought. Weakened muscles didn't want to support his weight and he found Christiana there almost immediately, her shoulder sliding under his arm. She made no comment, simply gave him the support he needed to stumble across the room to the chair. By the time he collapsed into it, he was sweating, his legs shaking from the exertion.

She dipped a small cloth in the basin of water she'd set out and wrung it out, handing it to him. "Good." A small pile of books was set at his feet. "I borrowed these from Jocelyn. Her father enjoyed good tales and spent a small fortune to possess his favorites. I'll leave you to read."

She dragged the table close, her teeth worrying her lower lip during the task. Efficiently, she cleared it, leaving the cup and the wine. Then, Christiana went about her duties, taking the sheets from the bed and carrying them outside where she'd launder them.

Adhemar leaned back in the chair and turned his face into the shadows. The bright sun was hot on his skin, too hot. He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel like doing anything. With a sigh, he turned his attention outside the cottage. He saw a world passing him by. Not that he cared. Children played in the distance, near a grouping of tiny houses, little more than huts really. Men worked and women went about their business. Beyond the houses, he could see the manor house.

Thatcher was there, and Jocelyn.

Why had Thatcher bothered to save him? Why not leave him to die? The question of the year. Was this Thatcher's form of revenge for that attempt Adhemar had made on his life? Or was it simply misguided human decency, a thing Adhemar had long ago given up on? There was little of decency in the world and if Thatcher's motivations stemmed from that, perhaps he should feel heartened at the state of the world. Someone bothered to save another man's life out of nothing but kindness.

No. He held his hands up again, choosing to study them rather than ponder kindness and William Thatcher.

His hands were softer than they'd been in years. No working with a sword, a bow or any weapons had already softened him. It showed so clearly in his hands. He flexed his fingers, bent them and twisted his wrists back and forth. When the light fell one way, he could see the tiny scars he had from various fights throughout his life. When the light fell another way, the scars were gone.

Would that life could be like that. Turn one way and all scars are gone.

Adhemar wept.

* * *

Roland was standing in the doorway.

Christiana shook her head, but the figure didn't disappear. He was becoming skeletal now, his cheeks sunken in and she hoped he'd fade from her dreams before he became a skeleton with bits of flesh hanging from his bones. "Go away," she whispered.

He stayed still, staring at her. Finally, he spoke. "Gotten yourself a handful, haven't you? He's not an easy man to nurse to health. Think he'll ever show you a kindness for the many kind things you do for him daily?"

She sat up. The fire had gone out in this dream and the ashes were stone cold. It was night, a dark hour that had no moon riding the back of the sky. Her ears heard no noises, not even her own breath. Turning her head, she looked towards the bed she'd given up for her patient.

Adhemar was there, sleeping on his side. He was silent and still. She could barely make out his form.

"What do you want," she asked her phantom husband.

"You needed to talk," he replied. "You called to me, so I came back"

"I didn't --"

"Don't lie to yourself, Christiana."

She closed her mouth.

"You can't stay with him every hour of every day. It's not healthy. You need to retain a bond with your friends. The next time Will comes down, have him sit with Adhemar and go visit Jocelyn. You haven't sat and talked with her in weeks. Or go see Kate."

She shook her head. "Kate's working now. She's working for Gilles. He's keeping her busy during the day and I've seen him about at dusk as well. Kate has no time to talk pleasantries. She's working hard to impress Gilles with the quality of her work."

"So talk with Gilles. He'll be interested in the past few years. There's a lot to catch up on."

Christiana sighed, drew her knees up and hugged them. "Adhemar's making progress. it's slow, but it's progress. He doesn't flinch away anymore when I help him walk the room." There was no flinching, only a tenseness to his muscles. "He's getting stronger. I have to bully him into moving though. I think he'd sit still as a lump on a log if I let him."

"Don't push him too hard, Christiana. The man has been through a horrible ordeal. Let him face it in his own time."

She looked up. Roland was gone and she was alone in the dream cottage with the dream Adhemar. The dream changed and Christiana let herself be drawn deeply into it.

* * *

Gilles Fortier watched the delectable Kate while she worked. He admired her deft touch with the tools and her solid concentration on her task. She'd greeted him with a nod, yet spoken not one word. He was content to watch.

He crossed his arms. She was beginning to trust him, truly trust him and Gilles couldn't wait until she made her move. It would be soon, he thought. By now, Kate had weighed the pros and cons of becoming more intimately involved with him and would surely have come to the right conclusion. And why not? He adored women; adored _her_. He'd been nothing if not exemplary in his conduct towards her. He'd shown her he was interested and that it was up to her to carry through. Gilles would not force his attentions upon her.

A tiny smile turned up his lips. She responded well to blunt words of praise as long as he wasn't too flowery in the delivery. She liked it simple. He could cause a blush upon her fair cheeks in seconds.

He talked to her. Gilles liked talking with her. She was a smart woman, with a good business sense. She'd talk on any topic and ask questions when curious on a matter. He'd done the same, making discreet inquiries on Christiana and what kept her in her cottage all day every day. Kate had been a good source of information. A very good source. In fact, one might say she was admirable in her knowledge of what went on here. She'd been able to tell him not only who was there, but for how long the individual had stayed.

Most instructive, she was.

He should visit Christiana some day soon. Perhaps when she was outside he'd call her over for a conversation. He'd no desire to go into her cottage and meet her patient. Gilles drummed his fingers along his arm. No, to meet with John Adhemar was not a thing he was ready to do. Not just yet.

The thought of the man brought him a sense of urgency on a related matter and he decided he'd better take care of it before any more time had passed.

"I'll be back later, Kate," he called, turning and strolling along the dusty street. His sharp gaze took in the run-down air of the tiny cluster of cottages. Those thieves had certainly done their best to destroy this place. The livestock was depleted, many of the cottages further out had been burned down and the food stores raided.

A deep frown creased his brow and Gilles mounted his horse. He rode slowly along the road and into the woods where he picked up the pace. A little ways along, he stopped, whistled, then continued on. He repeated the routine several times, cocking his head to one side and listening closely before continuing on. After a short ride of turns and guiding his mount through the forest itself, he came upon a lone man.

The man was dressed in rags, his clothing muddy and bloodied. "My lord."

Gilles dismounted. "Kelso." He gave a tight smile. "It seems you're alone."

"We were caught."

There was dread in the man's eyes and Gilles nodded sympathetically. "Yes. You were caught. Miraculously, though, you yourself survived the slaughter. How did that happen, Kelso?" He took several strides towards the man until he was a little less than arms length from him.

"I ran, my lord."

"You left your men to die without their commander? Kelso, that is low of you."

"I know, my lord, but --"

Gilles drew back his fist, slamming it hard and fast in the younger man's face. He watched him fall, then drew his dagger and crouched down, the tip of the blade to Kelso's throat. "I told you to ambush Adhemar and kill him, not plunder my lands and keep him alive."

"He was dying when we left camp."

Gilles grabbed a handful of the greasy, dirty hair, dragging Kelso's face up, punctuating his words with motion's of the knife. "_Was_, being the operative word, you cretin. My daughter has graciously nursed him back to health."

"I'm sorry, my lord," the man gasped, clutching at Gilles' wrist.

"Sorry," he snorted. Quickly, Gilles twisted the man around so that his back was to him. With a disgusted sigh, he ran the knife along the exposed flesh of the throat and released the man. "I'll have to kill Adhemar myself. How though, with Christiana hovering over him?" He wiped the knife on Kelso's cloak then stood, ignoring the death gurgles of his soldier.

The Adhemar problem had plagued him for two years now. It seemed that man would not die no matter what Gilles caused to happen. An arrow through the chest and he managed to live. Tossed into a lake when drunk and he managed not to drown. This effort had been just one of many. Knowing Adhemar would take this route home, he'd sent a few men to wait for him. They had specific instructions to stay low. No raping, no stealing and no killing save Adhemar and Adhemar's men. Gilles had ordered them to separate Adhemar from his men and kill him or ambush the entire garrison and kill them all. He didn't care either way as long as Adhemar was dead in the end. Then, he could get paid and they could get paid and all would be happy.

He hadn't trusted his men to complete their task and his misgivings had been well founded. Not only did they botch their job, they'd plundered _his_ lands, hurt _his_ people and far overstepped their bounds. William had done him a great favor in killing them all and saved him the trouble of doing it. He should thank him for that, but then he'd have to admit that this bunch of thieves had been his fault.

Fat chance of doing that.

Gilles mounted his horse and returned to his home.

* * *

As soon as Gilles was gone, Kate set down her prongs and collapsed into a nearby chair. I have to get a grip on myself, she thought. Being around Gilles constantly was like nothing she'd ever felt. Her longing to touch him, to kiss him and lay her body close to his was overwhelming. She must be more starved for romantic male attention than she'd realized.

She raised a shaking hand to her brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered as she'd worked. She needed another opinion on him, that was sure. Kate wasn't about to do any of those things she'd fantasized in the past few weeks without speaking to someone who knew the man well. But who? There was Jocelyn, yet Kate hesitated to go to her to discuss the practical view of the man.

Getting up, she went to the doorway and looked out. Christiana was outside, washing sheets, it looked like. The woman was busy at her task, and Kate caught a glimpse of movement in the window of the cottage. Adhemar. It had to be him, sitting in that same chair Christiana occasionally coaxed him into moving to, watching the world pass him by. Kate gave little thought to Adhemar usually, save to acknowledge that he was there and had been gravely injured by thieves some time ago. Christiana's gentle nature had induced her to nurse the man back to health.

All of which she'd discussed with Gilles, seeing no reason not to mention what she knew when he'd asked. Neither Will nor Christiana had said the details known couldn't be mentioned. Of course, Kate suspected something more than the basic injury they'd given in explanation. There was something strange in the way Adhemar seemed reluctant to leave the cottage; in the malaise that had settled upon him. It was almost as though he'd been shattered emotionally and spiritually as well as physically.

Taking a deep breath, Kate walked towards Christiana. It would have to be her she talked with.

The maid could obviously keep a secret. After all, she'd not let the story of Jocelyn and Will slip from her tongue three years earlier. Kate would talk with her and see what Christiana had to give as counsel. Perhaps then she could decide what to do about her attraction to Gilles.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Seven

Author: Kasey

Email:

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

* * *

It was with a great urgency that Wat made his way towards the manor, dragging a stretcher along behind him. He lugged his burden, pausing every so often to make sure it was all still there. This was something Will was going to want to see; that he _needed_ to see.

With grim intent, Wat walked to the small scattering of cottages just outside the manor. This was far enough. He'd leave it here and bring Will back. It was still working hours, so most people were about their tasks and wouldn't come out towards Christiana's cottage unless they had business with her.

He saw no sign of the maid and didn't want to chance Adhemar being awake by poking his nose into the cottage, so he adjusted the contents of the stretcher a bit and ran to the manor.

He found Will sitting by Jocelyn's bedside, their heads bent together as they spoke. By the look of them, they were engaged in an intimate conversation. Jocelyn had recently confined herself to her bed on Gilles Fortier's suggestion. Wat's lips tightened into a thin line. Again, that man. Always that snake Fortier. Any advice the man gave was taken without scrutiny it seemed, though the counsel to Jocelyn made sense. Wat fervently hoped that she and the babe would survive the birthing when it was time. He didn't think any of them could handle more death at this point. Death had become most personal to them all, taking friends and family with indiscriminate abandon. Men who'd seemed healthy had died and sickly ones lived.

Swallowing, he put that thought behind him. "Will."

The man looked up. "What?"

Wat scratched his temple, wiped away a trickle of sweat. "I've found something in the woods you should see. Now."

After so long together, Wat knew Will would recognize the urgency in his tone. Will's expression changed in an instant, a slight hardening of youthful features, making him appear older than he was. He stood from his place, bent, and gave Jocelyn a kiss before following Wat outside and down into the courtyard.

"What did you find, Wat?"

"You won't believe me if I told you. It's best seen to be believed."

* * *

"So...." Kate snagged a wildflower and glanced askance at Christiana. "What do you think of him?" She endeavored to remain casual about the query. She already knew Jocelyn's take on the man, and Will seemed ambivalent. Of course, Wat didn't like him and was given to muttering rude things under his breath about Gilles. Knowing the other's opinions, it was only logical that she get Christiana's opinion as well.

That one was in deep thought, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed. She sighed twice, began to speak and stopped. Finally, Christiana shook her head. "Does my opinion of Duke Fortier truly matter? What is between the two of you has little to do with the rest of us."

"There's nothing between us," Kate insisted with mock primness. "How many times do I have to say it?"

Christiana laughed, a joyous sound Kate hadn't heard from her in months. "Every time you deny a relationship, it adds to our speculations."

"There's not a single thing between Gilles and myself --"

"See? He's given you leave to use his Christian name. Not many have that particular permission." A definite smirk was on her lips.

"I had the impression otherwise," Kate began slowly. "He's been casual with it. With Will and Jocelyn."

"With you." Christiana bumped her playfully with her shoulder. "He fancies you, Kate." She ignored Kate's protests and even Kate had to admit they were wearing rather thin. "He bought you a horse. He's asked Will to consider releasing you from any contractual obligations. He's sent more work your way than you've ever had that I recall. And," she announced in triumphant voice, "he comes here to see you regularly."

Kate smiled. Gilles was quite shameless in declaring his interest in her. She loved the attention.

Christiana's glance went about them and when the area had been searched, she leaned close. "I've seen him visit you and only you and watched him leave late. Like I said, he fancies you."

A heat rose in Kate's cheeks. She had nothing to be ashamed of in those visits; nothing improper had happened. The gifts were not improper either. Yet hearing Christiana's frank mention of them made Kate feel as though she'd been sneaking about.

"Not only I saw, but others as well."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "We talk. He tells me of his travels; the people he's met; places he's been."

"And he's not made one advance towards you in these weeks?" Christiana turned her head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'he must be slipping.'

"What?"

Christiana gave her another undecided look and one long sigh. "Very well. Duke Gilles Fortier is a perfectly nice man. He's charming and intelligent and by far a better man than many men. However, he's the biggest flirt in three countries, incorrigible in the pursuit of whatever woman has caught his eyes, and has more illegitimate children roaming this countryside than he does legitimate progeny. His first wife was barren and died of fever and his second died of complications in childbirth when Jocelyn and I were small. He's resisted any efforts of his family since then to marry him off and is likely only interest in making you his latest conquest. Now," she frowned. "I could be wrong. It's been a long time since I've seen him and he might have changed. I don't know his motivations towards you. I can only guess. Allow me to reiterate that my opinion of him does not matter at all."

"It matters to me." Kate smiled. "The opinion of my friends always matters to me, even if I don't agree."

"Well it should not. If you like Gilles, then keep his company. It makes no never mind to me."

From the direction of Christiana's cottage came a harsh, anguished wail. Both women looked in that direction and got to their feet. Coupled with the continuing cry was the sound of blunt cracking.

Something was wrong.

They hurried in that direction.

* * *

The time he'd spent in the window had gone like every other time before it. He watched people going about their lives and was content as a watcher of the world rather than living fully within it. Adhemar sipped from the wine Christiana had left beside him as she usually did. He'd become used to these daily forced movements about the cottage, doing them only to shut her up. If he refused, she nagged him on it, day and night, pushing him until he simply gave in rather than listen to another word on it.

She had him walking fairly easily now, with only a little support from her. He tolerated her touch because he had to. He leaned his head back. No, that wasn't right. He didn't tolerate her touch, not any more. He'd grown mildly comfortable with her. In fact, he could stand her company quite nicely.

Christiana was a decent companion. She could read and write and he'd discovered it wasn't entirely useless for a woman to be taught such things. She obviously understood clearly what she read and was not hesitant about debating some matter with him as conversation. Her conversations managed to keep his mind suitably occupied so that he did not actively remember, although there were times when they'd be talking and he'd remember one horrible detail or another.

Movement caught his eye and he glanced to the right to see who was about down here at this time of day. He'd already seen the smith's visitor leave and watched Christiana meet up with that woman. Kate, he thought the smith's name was. Odd, to have a woman in that job. A memory leapt forth of that fateful tournament and he recalled that Thatcher's light weight armor had been made by a woman.

The redhead was pulling something along behind him, laboriously dragging it, his face a bright red from his exertions. The man seemed to be in a frenzy of activity once he stopped, fussing over whatever it was in that stretcher he'd dragged from the woods before running towards the manor. Curiosity tickled his brain, the first such sliver in months. Whatever could have sent him off at such a pace?

The longer he stared at the stretcher, the more curious he became. Adhemar was out of his chair and to the door before he even realized he'd moved, making his way step by step towards the stretcher. At first, he saw only a jumble of cloth. Flies buzzed. He turned his head a little, not quite comprehending what was there.

But then....

Then....

He saw.

Rage, blinding, _boiling_, welled up inside him, his sight gaining a reddish haze. His breath became ragged in his chest. Rage twined with hatred and he let the emotion take him over.

* * *

Wat had been unable to remain silent on the walk down to where he'd left his find, explanation bursting from him in rushed words. "He's freshly dead, Will, by not too long. There's no stink as yet."

"Why bring him here? What's so important --" Will paused, putting a hand on Wat's arm to stop him from walking on.

Adhemar was out of Christiana's cottage. His clothes hung limp and loose on his tall frame, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up over his forearms. He stared down at the body Wat had brought. They watched him bend down, drag a long, thin log towards him and stand again. His face contorted with rage and he swung the log. A guttural cry came from his lips. Over and over he hit the body, pieces of wood flying up.

Will and Wat rushed forward, subduing the man and wrenching the log from his hands. From the direction of the well came Kate and Christiana, asking what had happened. As quickly as it had slipped upon him, Adhemar's anger departed, his body going lax. He sagged against Will and Will gladly gave the man into Christiana's arms.

"What was so important, Wat," he asked crossly, breathing hard from holding Adhemar back. All he could see of the body was cloth and pulpy, bloody mess.

Wat shook his head, his gaze darting between Will and Christiana. Not in front of Christiana, Will realized he meant. He nodded. "Very well. Get rid of it."

Adhemar shoved Christiana, struggled to his feet and lurched back into the cottage. Moments later came the sound of dry retching and Christiana's voice in a calming murmur.

Kate, ignoring the flies and fresh carnage, bent, studying the remains. A frown creased her brow, but any comment she might have uttered was not loosed.

Will also stared at the corpse. When Kate used a twig to smooth out the clothes, he suppressed a gasp. The tunic carried the Fortier crest. It couldn't be true, he thought. Gilles had been a friend to them, his suggestions on business already increasing Thatcher fortune.

However, there were moments -- he had to admit -- when he rather thought Gilles was not all he made them think he was. He'd noticed a peculiar flat gleam in Gilles' eyes, one that only lasted the barest fraction of a second. It was still there though, a cold and calculating expression.

This tunic gave Will much to think about and he indeed ruminated on the matter as he went about his day.

* * *

As she returned to her work, Kate dismissed what she'd seen on the body Adhemar had angrily bludgeoned. It couldn't be. Gilles wouldn't sanction thieves to work on lands so close to his own.

Still, the doubt remained in the back of her mind and she closed up shop long before the normal hour, her feet carrying her along the road towards Gilles' home. She reached there after the sun had set and darkness descended upon the land. The guard at the gate only gave her a brief glance before allowing her through.

Gilles met her in the great hall. "Kate. You look distressed, my dear."

Warm hands chafed her arms, drew her near the fire. The hall was filled with people, and merry. Musicians played in one corner and the center of the floor was given over to dancing. Not a suitable place to discuss what she had on her mind. Kate bit her lower lip. Did she really want to ask him about the man? "Could we speak privately?"

Dark eyes searched hers and he nodded. "Of course. You can always speak privately with me if you wish."

She was led upstairs, to his chambers. Gilles was all solicitous care, pressing her to sit in one chair with comfortable pillows behind her back and to drink a bit of wine. Kate did so, uncertain how to begin now that she was here alone with him.

He dragged a chair to sit before her, knees brushing hers. Gilles remained leaning towards her. One of her hands was grasped by his, brought up to his cheek and casually stroked along his beard. Little kisses were also placed upon her palm. "Relax. Take your time."

Her resolve to ask about the man crumbled. The man most likely had stolen he tunic and that was that. When Gilles was looking at her so tenderly, she couldn't think ill of him. He'd nothing to do with the thieves that had been running about the land. He couldn't have; he'd only recently returned from his travels.

She was rationalizing and a part of her mind knew it, yet readily fed the rationalizations. If the tunic had been stolen and she asked him about it, he could be offended, which could cause him to cancel his work order and stop coming to see her....

Kate's stomach twisted.

No.

Leaning forward, she raised her free hand to his face, tracing his features before brushing her lips across his in a quick caress.

Gilles stilled, releasing her hand. He took her chin between thumb and forefinger, a heat growing in his gaze. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. He was the first man she'd been undeniable attracted to in a very long time. Of course she was sure. Any misgivings she had turned to smoke and blew away under that attraction. Gilles was a good man. She refused to think the worst of him.

"I've been waiting for you," he replied.

Her mouth was taken by his in a tempestuous kiss.

Kate surrendered.

* * *

Will pulled the other chair before the hearth, considering the man staring into the fire. Adhemar gave a glance and slight nod of his head in greeting. The change that had come over him was startling, Will thought, and not just the physical.

He was thinner, the lack of the regular exercise of training causing muscles to slacken. Will had tried to coax him to train with invitations daily, but to no avail. The weary look of sickness still lingered on Adhemar's face and he had gotten Christiana to trim his hair close to his head. Adhemar didn't resemble the man Will had known from tournament. This man could be his twin, his opposite.

Christiana had faithfully walked Adhemar about the cottage. She was the only person allowed to touch the man. The accidental touch of any other caused a violent reaction. Adhemar would grab whoever it was and shove them, fist ready to strike. When he was outside Christiana's cottage, people no longer came to see Christiana for fear of accidentally touching the man.

Will had stepped in a few times, pleading with Christiana to have a fence built in the back of the cottage where Adhemar could sit without fear of any coming to near him. The woman had given him a look of amusement and told him 'It's not contagious, Will. He's just a bit...jumpy right now. I'll speak with him.' It was already too late though. No one visited Christiana when Adhemar was outside.

With Jocelyn's help, Will had been corresponding with Adhemar's mother for weeks. The lady was politely concerned over her son, yet Will got the distinct impression that she no longer cared if her once favorite child lived or died. The letters from the youngest child though....

Simon. His letters had been pure emotion, the sort of a young man who adores his older brother. There was relief that John was alive and being cared for; sadness that he'd been gravely injured and concern for his welfare.

"Your mother and brother Simon have written."

Wary eyes flicked towards him, then returned to contemplation of the fire.

"They ask when you will return home."

"Must I?" A weary air to the words.

"Eventually." Will crossed his ankle on his knee. "Christiana says you're able to travel now. I'll be happy to send a garrison of my men to escort you --"

"I don't require your escort or your pity."

"I offer no pity." He'd expected such a reaction. "The escort, however, is necessary as long as you aren't at full strength."

There was no comment on that.

"I must admit, Adhemar, this apathetic turn of yours disconcerts me."

"Apathetic? Disconcerts? I see Jocelyn has taught you some fancy words." He shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm not the man I was. I'm not even certain I'd wish to be that man again."

Will shifted in his chair, ran his gaze over the plain cottage Christiana had prettied up with bits of fabric. "You should at least do some of the things the man you were did. You barely eat, you don't go outside unless bullied into doing so and you don't train at all. I doubt you could lift a lance in the shape you're in."

Adhemar rolled his head back on his neck. There was a harsh crack as something popped. "Do I need to lift a lance right at this second?"

"Life isn't about simply existing. You should do more than lurch weakly from day to day watching those about you go on with their lives. Live, Adhemar."

A bitter chuckle. "Why would I want life, Thatcher?"

Will gave him a level stare. "You _are_ alive, man. Don't waste life by only existing. _Live_. Rejoin humanity."

Sadness filled the man's gaze and when he replied, regret colored the words with heavy strokes. "It's been a very long time since I embraced humanity; the human decency that defines the best of men. I sincerely doubt I would even know how."

Will went silent. It was not hopeless, he knew. In the darkest of times, there was still hope, but as long as Adhemar refused to see it, hope would flee from him. He had no will to return to a full life, nothing to entice him back, and how sad that made Will feel.

How sad.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Eight

Author: Kasey

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Feedback: Greatly appreciated.

* * *

Wat sauntered over to Kate, watched her for a moment as she worked. She was busy, as she always was anymore. Sweat glistened on her brow and her dress stuck to her back, the fabric dark, wet. She was happy to have so much work, a good income, but Wat couldn't bring himself to trust the source of the work.

He'd not liked Gilles Fortier from the moment he'd seen him, though what set him off he couldn't pinpoint in entirety. He looked at the man and all he could see was a mercenary out only for himself. Never mind that Fortier claimed to have been traveling quite innocently. Wat didn't believe that for a second. Gilles Fortier was too smooth of voice and manner to be sincere in all he said and did.

"Kate."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Good morning."

"Take a minute?" Please say yes, Kate, he thought, holding up the basket he carried and lifting the cloth covering it so she could see the fresh sweet buns he'd charmed from one of the bake staff. _Come on, Kate_.

"In a few," she replied with a tiny smile.

"I'll wait." He took the nearby stool, sank onto it. He'd never seen her behave the way she had been over Fortier, which alarmed him on several levels. Kate had always been slightly aloof romantically, turning Wat down gently and keeping to herself. Now, she was practically glowing when Fortier was around.

The man was too slick, too confident, to.... He pursed his lips. Too _Adhemar_. That was some of what bothered him. Fortier was what Wat supposed Adhemar would be in a decade or so. Or would have been, rather. Adhemar had been in Christiana's cottage for weeks and not come out much at all. There was a good chance he was no longer himself for whatever reason.

But Fortier....

He smiled and patted Will on the back like a friend, yet Wat had seen him strike a peasant in the road after a visit. Not a peasant man. A peasant _woman_. That disturbed him, knowing Kate's fascination for the man. Perhaps Fortier had a good reason for hitting the woman. There could be any number of reasons. However, if he hit Kate, he'd not know what hit him. Wat would not allow Kate to be hurt like that. Not his Kate.

And she _was_ his too, but not in some sick and twisted way. No, she was his as a friend and what was his, Wat did his best to protect.

Kate finished, motioned him outside. They went to the well, drew up a bucket and Wat waited while Kate drenched a cloth and bathed her face and neck. Finally, she indicated the basket.

"Buns?"

"Freshly baked. Sarah just finished them." He sat, reaching in the basket and bringing one out for her. Kate took it, joining him.

"So what's the occasion? You don't come down to see me much anymore."

"You never have time."

Her smile faded and she picked at the pastry as though she'd suddenly lost her appetite. "I have to make a living Wat. Same as you. You know that."

"I'm not..." He crammed the rest of the bun into his mouth and chewed furiously, giving himself time to think on his reply. Roland used to tell him he needed more caution before he acted and with the subject he'd be bringing up, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. "I'm not complaining, Kate. Just stating a fact is all."

"Oh."

They munched in companionable silence until the food was nearly finished. Then, Wat took a deep breath.

"What're you doing, Kate?"

"In regards to what?" She licked her fingers, managing to smear icing along her cheek.

"Fortier. The Duke. What're you doing?"

He'd stuck his foot in his mouth apparently, for her expression darkened, a warning in her eyes. "It's not your business, Wat. I'm a grown woman and can take care of myself."

"The hell it's not my business," he snorted. This time, he didn't bother holding his temper. "I don't trust the man as all you seem to. He walks in here and behaves as though he owns all this and Will's to be humored. He's condescending --"

"To who?"

"There's something very dark in him and dangerous. You're a fool to --"

"A fool am I?"

"Yes!"

Anger filled her eyes and she got to her feet. "No Wat, you're the fool."

"He wants you in his bed, Kate." They were shouting now, drawing attention. This wasn't what he'd planned. He'd wanted a rational conversation, where he calmly laid out his misgivings and she calmly answered him. He should have known it wouldn't happen as such, not with his temper clashing with hers. "That's all he wants from you!"

Her hand met his face, not in a ladylike slap, but in a punch, with all of the strength Kate had behind it. "Bastard! How dare you say that to me!"

"Truth," he said softly, wearily, pausing to spit blood before continuing. "He watches you like a man who wants a woman, Kate."

"You mean like you?" She crossed her arms. "You can't have me and you can't stand to see someone else have me." A laugh came from her lips. "Do you think I'm stupid, Wat? Do you think I didn't know you wanted me? How could I not, though you try and hide it as joking about?"

The plea for her to stay away from Fortier stuck in his throat. Her face had taken on a stony expression he knew well. Anything he had to say would not be heard at all. He could plead until he turned blue and passed out, but Kate would do as she pleased. "Kate, I...."

"Don't." She held up her hands before her as though to push him away. "I can take care of myself."

Turning, Wat stalked away from her. Fine. Let her find out on her own. See if he was around to help her when Fortier pulled the ground out from beneath her.

* * *

Will watched the reunion of brothers from the doorway of Christiana's cottage, unwilling to become involved unless there was no other course of action. Rumors, he'd found, had been right on some things. Adhemar's mother had indeed asked her youngest son to take over the family finances.

Simon Adhemar was not the sort of man Will expected. He was quiet and calm and something of an opposite to his brother. He'd come, he explained, to ascertain his brother's health and discuss that unwillingness to come home.

"John?" Simon approached the man in the chair cautiously. Will could imagine the thoughts running through his head. Was this broken shell of a man his brother?

"Simon." Even the voice was different, stripped of arrogance, flat and emotionless. "Welcome."

"You need to come home, John."

Adhemar turned his head, raked his gaze over his brother and shook his head. "I do not wish to."

"Please. Mother --"

"Our mother cares little for me; _has_ cared little since I lost the title of 'World Tournament Champion'."

Simon drew up a chair. "Legally, I shouldn't have anything to do with the money, but there's no one else."

"Is Stephen still in his monastery then?"

"He won't leave. Raine refuses to leave England and Timothy died last month. An outraged husband caught up with him."

Adhemar nodded, though to Will's eye, he didn't seem particularly concerned by the death of a sibling. "Well then, you're it, I suppose." He looked around, his gaze catching Will's. "I assume, Thatcher, that you can find a lawyer to draw up the necessary documents?"

Will straightened. "We'll send a rider out. It'll be several hours if the man is even available. There's a chance he might not get here for a day or two."

"Fine. However long it takes then."

They were dismissed, Adhemar saying nothing more and ignoring Simon's attempts to speak to him. Back at the manor, Simon let loose a bit of his frustration.

"I can't understand how he got this way." He ran his hands through his hair until dark curls stood up in tufts. "That man is not my brother, Sir Will. Oh, he looks like him and the voice is the same, but that is not John. John has never, to my recollection, been so...agreeable."

"Unless he wanted something," Will replied. "I remember him as being quite agreeable to get his way. My wife would concur."

"Not agreeable." Simon shook his head, correcting the word. "Tolerant. Agreeable was never in my brother's list of attributes. He _tolerated_ to get his way."

Will shrugged. "Whatever he was, he no longer is. Suffice it to say that he has changed, for some reason and you must deal with him as he is today, not as he was the last time you saw him."

The young man returned to his chair and sat, studying Will with an earnest expression. "He hated you, I remember that clearly. He'd no kind words at all for your presence at tournament. Your interactions brought out his childish and spiteful bent most fully. So why is he behaving now as though you're on decent terms? Many men have saved his life over his years as a soldier, so why treat you differently? What's changed? What was there this time that wasn't in previous times?"

He couldn't answer that, not without breaking his promise not to say a word on how Adhemar's injuries had been received. He poured some wine, studied the container and took his time considering an answer before speaking. "I didn't save him out of a desire to be recognized or gain coin. I brought him here out of common decency to a man I thought to be dying. My only thought was to make him comfortable in his final hours. It was Christiana who took initiative and worked to heal his injuries. I say it's not I he sees as decent, but Christiana. If I'm considered at all, it's in the capacity of her lord."

Simon conceded that perhaps he was right and they turned their attention to other topics.

* * *

It didn't occur to Kate that she shouldn't tell Gilles what was troubling her when he asked. She reiterated the argument and Gilles shook his head.

"Of course that's not why I see you, Kate," he said in a soothing tone, his fingers kneading her shoulders. "We've much in common and you're lovely to be around. I thoroughly enjoy our times together."

Perhaps she should have taken into account the fact that they were in bed when he said this, but Kate didn't, not then. Since she'd come to him, Gilles seemed to be no longer interested in the sort of discussions they'd had prior to that event. In fact, he often resorted to kisses when she began speaking.

Wat's arguments had sown doubt deep within her mind and Kate knew she needed to find the truth.

Closing up her shop, Kate decided that she'd better confront Gilles on it again and perhaps even discuss the matter of that man Wat had found in the woods a couple weeks earlier. She took the horse Gilles had given her this time. That way, if Wat was unfortunately right, she'd not have the gift to remind her of her stupidity in believing him. Of course, Will and Wat would be horrified that she'd return such a fine animal, but it was her decision.

She was asked to wait in the great hall while a servant let Gilles know she'd come to see him. Kate wandered to the fire and waited, listening to several low conversations until one in particular caught her attention.

"Shame Kelso disobeyed orders like that. He was a good soldier."

A snort. "Good? He knew my lord plans on taking those lands, so why bring on wrath by looting them and burning usable crops? He had a job and botched it. If he'd wanted to secure the lands for my lord, he could have at least killed the Thatcher family instead of burning everything."

Kate's ears perked and she pretended to be lost in her thoughts.

"Yes, he was sloppy," came a third voice. "Not to mention letting Adhemar get away."

Kate's arm was grasped and she was taken to Gilles' chambers. He was working, motioned her to take a seat.

"One moment, please." When he finished, he looked up. "Well, hello, my dear."

"It _was_ your men, preying on us these past months," she said before she could stop the words from coming.

Gilles didn't deny the conclusion she'd come to. Instead, he shrugged, gave her one of those warm smiles guaranteed to make her insides quiver. "Men become restless, Kate. You're a practical woman. You know how the world works. Their behavior was nothing personal. You know that."

That he didn't deny it somehow surprised her. He'd denied everything else, but on this he admitted readily. "Nothing personal," she gasped. "Your men burned our fields, our houses. They killed our livestock, raped indiscriminately and stole everything not bolted down. How can you sit there and say it was nothing personal? All of that is _very_ personal." Emotion made her reckless and Kate lurched on, more thinking aloud than talking directly to him. "Count Adhemar. He...he was injured and...." She shook her head. "Those men were sent here to wait for him first, but you want Will's land."

Congeniality bled from his features, leaving his eyes glittering dangerously. With the warmth gone, his smile was more than a little menacing. He arched a brow, one hand raising, upturned, in question. "And just what are you planning to do with that information?"

She stared at him first, then at the door behind him. It looked very far away and she had no doubt that she'd erred in coming alone. Would Wat ever get to know that he'd been right after all? Kate was strangely tired by Gilles' admittance.

Gilles stood, moving with a fluid grace that took on a reptilian cast, smooth and oiled. He came around the table to stand behind her. His hands trailed up her arms to her shoulders and when he spoke, his mellifluous voice was hot in her ear. "You're going to be my guest for a little while, Kate. You've quite obligingly saved me the trouble of coming to collect you after I kill Adhemar."

Gilles kneaded her shoulders, a gesture that had once left her nearly purring in contentment. Now, she tensed.

"I'm a mercenary. You know what that means, yes?" He released her, stepping forward and half sitting against the table, arms crossed. "Mmm.... You look shocked, my dear. Why is that?"

Kate declined to answer.

"Any man is capable of what I do, even young William. Being a 'nice man' does not keep a man from doing what he has to." Arrogance glinted in his gaze. "I took a contract to dispose of one rather lucky, yet irksome individual who was getting in the way of a victory. The man would not simply give up and die, though he should have perished quickly. I pursued him for two years."

"Admirable work ethic," she remarked caustically.

"Yes. Two years without pay. I sent some men to take care of him. They were not supposed to plunder."

Everything came together in her mind and Kate wondered now why he was bothering to tell her all this. "You've used me." She clasped her hands tightly together.

"Yes," he acknowledged with a nod. "And no. I have become fond of you these weeks. However, I still have a job to do and you kept me well informed on my daughter's regrettable doctoring of Adhemar."

Daughter? Did he mean Christiana? Her brow furrowed.

"Sentiment has no place in the middle of a job. John Adhemar is going to die by my hand." Gilles uncrossed his arms, one hand going to her cheek, his thumb caressing. "Unless of course, someone steps in, offers to pay me more than the price on his head to keep him alive. Then, I'll consider the better offer."

"You'd bargain over a man's life?"

"Without batting an eye."

She jerked her head back from the touch of his fingers. A sick feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach. "You're horrible."

"That's a matter of opinion." White teeth flashed in a grin, a bit of lighter emotion returning to his features. "You weren't so...repulsed a couple nights ago, were you?" A hot flush warmed her cheeks at his chuckle. Gilles stood, strode to the door. "You'll remain in this room until I return. Then, we'll discuss this sudden aversion you're pretending."

Kate grabbed the nearest object and flung it as hard as she could in his direction. Her aim was good, but the object merely thudded against the door as he swept it open.

Gilles gave her a final look. "Temper, temper," he said silkily, and then Kate was alone.


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Nine

Author: Kasey

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Feedback: Questions? Comments? Colorful metaphors? All are appreciated.

* * *

The exact reason he'd taken to following Kate since their initial argument was frustratingly absent from Wat's mind. All he knew was that he felt compelled to be near her and watch over her. A thankless job, especially when she noticed him and took exception to his presence.

He followed her, surprised when she didn't appear to notice him on the path behind her. She went to Fortier's, rode straight through the gate. No one stopped her or inquired as to her business. He wasn't stopped either. Wat rode into the courtyard with the air of a man certain he was expected and was ignored for it.

Wat frowned. This was quite unlike the way Will had begun to run his home. By Will's now strict standards, Fortier was shockingly lax in his protective measures. Anyone could ride in here with ill intent and not be stopped until too late. At the gates at home, Will posted guards who asked the business of any wanting to pass through. A smart move in light of recent events and one that Wat himself had suggested.

Going into the manor, he watched Kate go up the stairs, trailing behind long enough to see exactly where she went. Wat waited, observing Fortier's home intently as he pretended to dust a low table.

How could any come here and _not_ realize the man was shifty? The lot in the Great Hall were mercenaries, he'd bet on it. All had a vicious look to them. As for the manor itself, it was in worse repair than Will's home, the furnishings much shabbier than he'd expected to see. The tapestries were threadbare in places and the house had an almost abandoned feel to it, as though no one had actively taken care of it in a very long time.

Fortier may be a Duke, but there didn't look to be much money attached to him.

The man himself came from the door Kate had gone through and Wat listened shamelessly as the man outlined a plan for her to be guarded over until he returned. She was not to be allowed to escape. The young man he spoke to, scurried to his post, while Fortier ordered the second man to continue packing and be ready to travel as soon as he returned. Soon, the Duke had gone.

Interesting. Fortier was leaving the area again. Whatever was he up to?

Briefly, he contemplated letting Kate stew in captivity, but his better nature prevailed. He couldn't leave her with Fortier. Who knew what the man planned to do with her? Wat went around the corner, took up a tray and tossed a cloth over it to look as though he carried food. He then went back around the corner and approached the guard. The man was bigger than Kate, yet smaller than Wat. Beautiful.

"Food," he explained. "For the girl."

The guard turned, opened the door and Wat quickly set the tray down, giving him a mighty shove into the room. The next moments went quite well. He and Kate almost seemed to be reading each other's minds, so well choreographed were their movements. Kate charged the man as he stumbled, swinging a candlestick with an enthusiasm that made Wat wince. There was a sickening thump and the man fell limp to the floor, bleeding from the head.

Kate started to swing the candlestick again, apparently recognized him and tried to stop in mid-swing. She stumbled herself and fell heavily to her rear. "What're you doing here," she blurted out, her face going red.

"Rescuing you." Wat held out a hand to help her up. After a second, she took it. "Fortier's leaving the area. He plans to take you with him I believe."

"Bastard," Kate spat, but whether she was referring to him, Fortier or the both of them, he wasn't sure. "He's going to kill Adhemar. We've got to get there before he does."

Wat stared at her. He was no fan of Adhemar, that was for sure, and he'd be glad when the man was gone from their home, but to sit back and let him be murdered? Could he do that?

Kate stared up at him, a tiny frown curling her brow. She was upset, her dark eyes worried. "I don't like him anymore than you, Wat." Gently, she extricated her hand from his. "But I can't let a man murder another if I can help it."

He nodded and they hurried from the Fortier home. First, they'd go to Will. Then, they'd stop Fortier.

* * *

Death had come.

John Adhemar sat up in bed and watched Death watching him. He knew it was Death because of the expression on the man's face. There was passivity and determination and finality all in that expression. He sighed. "Give me one moment to dress and move to the chair."

Death nodded. "Take your time Adhemar. We've some time to waste. Christiana was on her way up to the manor. She told me in passing that Jocelyn's labor has begun. She'll be up there awhile and I know no one else comes here at all. They don't want to fight you."

Adhemar nodded and pulled on his clothes. Had he been here that long? Was Jocelyn at nine months already? Or had something gone wrong for her and the child? He worked the closings of his shirt. It occurred to him that he'd not once caught a glimpse of Jocelyn since he'd been here. The lady of the manor hadn't bothered to come down and see the sick man who'd once fought over her. The thought didn't bother him at all. She was not his, so she was none of his concern.

His gaze found his deliverer.

He and Gilles Fortier had been at each other's throats for years, ever since Adhemar was old enough to go into battle. Fortier had referred to him constantly as 'upstart boy'. Once, that had bothered him, but now, Adhemar found himself almost smiling at the remembrance like it was something to be fondly revisited.

He got up and went to the chair, a mild sense of disassociation settled over him, numbing him. In minutes, Fortier would release him from his pain and that would be that. He'd be in the arms of the angels, or devils rather.

But he'd already been held in the arms of an angel.

He blinked. Christiana would find him dead. She'd cry pretty tears over his body and actually grieve over him. Of this he had no doubt. Christiana, his ministering angel, would cry over the loss of him. She would care what happened to him; _had_ cared. She'd nursed him through a fever that should have taken his life. Christiana had cared for him as though the force of her determination -- her own will -- would keep him alive.

On all the face of the earth, there was one person who would shed genuine tears over his demise.

Steel touched his chest, Fortier marking where he'd thrust the blade.

In that second, John Adhemar decided there was a possibility he wasn't ready for death after all. Death the persona slipped away and he looked up at his familiar nemesis, wondering how to stop this. It was too late, he knew. He was a dead man already and had simply walked into his end without a fight.

Then, the most amazing thing occurred.

* * *

Wat and Kate found Will in the upstairs hall outside the master's chambers. Jocelyn was in labor, they could hear her screams loud and clear though the closed door. Will had his arms crossed and a look of sheer terror upon his handsome face. Kate wanted to go to him and tell him it was going to be okay, but they had business to take care of.

"Will, you're needed," Wat hissed urgently, motioning to Will to come with them.

Christiana came from the room, closing the door behind her. "She's perfectly fine. It shouldn't be long now."

"Will listen!" Kate grabbed his tunic and jerked him about to face her. Annoyance glinted in his eyes. "Gilles is going to kill Adhemar."

"What?" Christiana's gaze was sharp and clearer than Kate had seen in a long time. "Why?"

Quickly, Kate gave her story. She'd scarcely finished when Christiana took off at a full run towards the stairs. Wat shoved Will after her, yelling for him to take care of the matter and promising to stay there. Kate followed, pushing Will's back with her hands to convey the urgency of the situation. As they passed through the Great Hall, Christiana hooked one arm through Simon Adhemar's. He dropped the cup he'd been sipping from, but didn't protest.

Kate prayed they'd get there in time.

* * *

"Halt!"

Gilles glanced up, a second before shoving his sword into this pathetic excuse for a man and ending Adhemar's misery. In the door, were William, Christiana, Kate and a young man who greatly resembled Adhemar. A brother perhaps? "Why should I? He sits here, not even defending himself, this man who once defeated my company in battle. He wants death. Why should it be denied him?" His glance lingered on Kate. Resourceful woman. He wondered how she'd gotten past the guard he'd posted on her.

The young man resembling Adhemar spoke. "I'll pay double to keep him alive what you were promised to kill him."

Hmm. Kate had apparently told all she knew. "No miserly sum." Gilles named the original price, then doubled it in accordance, noting the young man's alarm at the figure. "Have you such wealth, boy?"

A dry chuckle escaped from Adhemar's throat. "He doesn't. Not yet. Where is the lawyer when you need him, ehh Simon?"

He drew the sword back apace. "Your brother," he asked, receiving an affirmative nod from Adhemar in response. "So you've got to pay for your own life from his noble gesture? I won't wait for a lawyer to transfer rights."

Adhemar's glance flitted to his brother, mildly apologetic. "Be sure you're not wasting noble gestures on those who don't want them Simon."

Gilles pulled the sword back further, waiting patiently for the protest young William would now make.

Adhemar continued, shifting in the chair. "Whenever you're ready Fortier. I'm comfortable."

"No!"

The protest was not from William, or even from Simon or Kate, but rather Christiana. She flung herself forward, heedless of the steel that barely missed her side. Gilles took a step back. Christiana put herself between him and Adhemar, curling her arms about the arms of the chair and resisting Adhemar's efforts to move her. To Gilles' eyes, the man didn't look to be trying very hard though.

"Get off me, woman," Adhemar growled.

"No, I will not."

Gilles rolled his eyes and sighed, resting the tip of his sword on the ground and using it like a staff. A simple kill had turned farcical. "Anyone else," he drawled.

"I nursed you back to health and I'll not stand by and let you die." Christiana hooked a slender ankle about Adhemar's calf, her face set in a stubborn expression Gilles suddenly recognized as his own.

Like father, like daughter, he thought. "Christiana dear, kindly get off the man so I can kill him."

"I will not. You'll have to kill me too."

Kate was smirking. "Sentiment has no place in the middle of a job," she said, raising her brows at the narrowed glare Gilles shot her. "Isn't that so?"

"Be silent," Gilles sneered. "As a woman properly should be."

Through it all, William said not one word.

"Why, Christiana dear, should I not run him through. Make it a good reason please, something along the lines of 'I've suddenly come into some money and can pay the amount proposed'. No spouting of undying love and devotion that is meaningless in the face of a paying contract."

She gave him a cross look. "You're horrible."

"So I've been told."

"I'd move her if I'd the strength to, Fortier, believe me. I've no wish to continue existing." One hand swept Christiana's hair from his face. Despite the protestation, Gilles noticed the man was no longer attempting to remove the maid from his lap. Indeed, he seemed quite content to sit and watch the events unfold around him. His voice was also strangely...cheerful.

Gilles shifted his gaze to those still in the doorway. "Simon, is it? How much _are_ you able to pay boy?" The sum stated was much less than the double proposed, barely over what the contract itself was to pay. Now, Gilles turned to Kate. "I assume, since you ran here, that you wish this man to live?"

She paused, then nodded. "He's not the same man you fought before. It wouldn't be right to kill him."

He gave a roll of his eyes in opinion of that sentiment. "Simon is willing to give his funds, Christiana her life. What are you willing to give?"

There was no answer.

Gilles turned his attention to William. "And you, William. Would you save this man that you've freely admitted tried to kill you himself? If places were reversed, I'm certain he'd not hesitate to let me kill _you_."

The young man stared at him. There was such a struggle on his face that Gilles felt a tiny stab of pity for him. It must be hell at times to have such high standards for oneself. He saw indecision, a hint of anger and finally resolve.

"I saved him once. I'll do it again if I'm able."

"You call him friend then?"

"No. We are not friends, but I believe we understand one another a bit better than we once did."

Gilles studied the young man and nodded, sheathing his sword. "The money, Simon, if you please."

"That's it," Kate asked and he smiled sadly.

"What did I tell you? I said I'd consider a better offer. One was made and accepted." He sighed, casting a glance at Adhemar. "Business Adhemar. You understand."

The man shrugged his brows. "Of course."

When it became apparent that this was not some new ploy to remove Christiana from Adhemar's lap so Gilles could kill him, Christiana eased herself up to stand. Her hands were shaking and when her legs would not hold her, Adhemar's hands steadied her.

It's inevitable, Gilles thought, noting that touch. Though still obviously sick, Adhemar had an attachment to Christiana and vice-versa. It was subtle and neither probably realized it as yet, if they ever would. Too bad he couldn't stay and see her happy. Then again, it was far too late to actively portray a fatherly mien. Just the knowledge that she was strong enough to get past her grief would have to do.

"Gilles," William began, looking extremely put out. "You are not welcome here any longer."

"I assumed such. For what it's worth, my men disobeyed orders. You were more lenient with them than I would have been."

"I had them killed." Regret in Will's eyes.

"Yes, but _I_ would have tortured them first." He went to the door. "Tell Jocelyn whatever you think she's strongest to hear, whether it's truth or not." He stretched out a hand, touching Kate's shoulder. "A word, Mistress Kate."

She glared at him. "Not unless you swear you're not going to toss me over your horse and drag me away."

Was he that transparent? "Must I swear?"

"Yes."

He gave a sweeping glance at all who listened and realized he was going to have to let the succulent Kate go. She'd not leave with him and he doubted he'd get far were he to try taking her. "Very well."

They walked a few paces from the cottage, out of earshot, but not sight.

"You could come with me, Kate."

"And find myself in some far off place when someone you've angered manages to kill you? Or have to live with that male superiority attitude you kept hidden for so long? I won't be told to remain silent, Gilles. That's not who I am."

The hurt in her eyes was a slight pain in his chest. For all of his true opinions and ways, he really had enjoyed her. She had refreshed him and it was a disappointment to leave her behind.

"You used me, Gilles. I can't forgive that."

He cupped her face between his hands, bending and taking one last kiss from her. "I know. Live well, Kate." Gilles Fortier took his leave from the Thatcher property.

He did not look back once and by the time his wagons set out from his home, he'd put all thoughts of Kate from his mind. There were other women and other places and he still had life left within his body.

No regrets.


	10. Chapter Ten

Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Ten

Author: Kasey

Summary: Will and Christiana take Adhemar home for care after finding him injured by thieves. **WARNING**-- rape mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: 'A Knight's Tale' and the characters are the property of Columbia Pictures. I make no money off of this work of fan fiction.

Feedback: Questions? Comments? Colorful metaphors? All are appreciated.

Notes: When this story was begun, I had very different ideas about where it would go, but then a 31/2" floppy disaster made me re-think the plot. As usually happens in such instances, I ended up enjoying this turn of plot better than the original idea! I hope this final chapter is enjoyed. -- _Kasey_

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* * *

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For once, it was not Wat seeking Kate out during the day, but rather her wandering about the grounds looking for him. She finally found him by the fish pond, showing children to fish. There was quite a group about him and Kate took a moment to watch. He joked with them and played, his manner silly. Strange, how Kate had never considered him with children before.

It occurred to her that, although she'd known him for a long while, she'd never taken the time to really know the man. All she knew were the basics. Who he really was escaped her. The thought brought a rush of sadness. She watched him laugh and entertain the children and decided she'd like to change that. She'd like to know Wat better.

She wasn't particularly attracted to him physically, not like she'd been with Gilles, but perhaps it was better that way. Perhaps caution should be entertained. She knew he cared for her a great deal and that he'd always been careful to not force his attentions on her. Oh, he'd propositioned her and made it come out in a joking manner, but, truthfully, there was no joking to it. He was still interested in her and it was more than a bit flattering.

He'd warned her about Gilles, showing an insight to the man's character that all of them had missed. He'd followed her and rescued her and once it was all over and Gilles had gone, he'd not once given her an 'I told you so'. Instead, he'd remained silent.

How novel! Wat remaining silent!

A sign of maturity and there were many such signs Kate was beginning to see. He still brawled, but his fights were not solely begun with temper. He held his tongue better.

She smiled and stood a bit straighter to find his regard turned her way. He left the children and came to her.

"Kate."

"I've come to say I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Oh. About what?"

She uncrossed her arms, threaded her fingers together and twisted them about. "I didn't behave very well to you. I thought I should apologize." Kate looked away. It was more difficult than she'd thought to say these words. "I..."

"Accepted. Do you like children?"

Why on earth was he asking that? She nodded slowly. "Well yes."

"Good." He took her arm, leading her towards the group of noisily chatting children. "Then you won't mind taking time to play."

She found she didn't mind at all.

* * *

In the opinion of the midwife, the Lady Jocelyn's birth experience had been one of the easiest she'd ever seen. Not that Jocelyn agreed with her. She was rather glad to have it behind her and to be holding her baby. The child was red and wrinkled and the most beautiful thing Jocelyn had ever set eyes upon. She was moved near to tears every time she looked at the tiny face.

She held her son and contemplated the business Will had brought to her.

He'd not lied to her or painted rosy colors on the truth. He'd told her about Gilles. It was distressing to learn that his men had been responsible for the problems they'd had and that he had not been what she'd thought him to be.

Most people are not what they put forth, she thought. Even Will had masqueraded as another person. Still, she could not find it in her to entirely hate Gilles. Flawed as he was, he'd been good to her and to Christiana all their lives. Briefly, she wondered if Christiana had ever learned that Gilles was her father. Jocelyn's mother had let that gem slip once when she was ill and Jocelyn had kept the secret, though it had seemed silly to her. Unless Christiana asked, she'd continue keeping the secret, just like she now kept the secret that Gilles was her real father.

Gabrielle had been pregnant when she'd married Henry, forced to marry by her father. She'd not been as lucky as Jocelyn to marry her love. Jocelyn had been busy in her confinement, reading her mother's journals and discovering all sorts of things she'd not known, like how she'd been the first of Gilles' children, followed quickly by Christiana and several others. Gabrielle had eventually gotten over her first love, remarking that she'd settled because she had to and become fond of her husband after a fashion.

Her mother's situation had been remarkably like her own. The attentions of two suitors at tournament, favoring one exclusively, then told she could not marry her favorite. Thankfully, their stories veered at that point. Gabrielle had given Jocelyn her full support in the matter of William Thatcher and now Jocelyn knew why. Her mother had relived life through Jocelyn.

She glanced at the window, where for the first time in weeks, the sky was clear and the sun sent cheerful rays over the manor and grounds. In a few days, when she could leave the chamber, she'd go and visit Adhemar. It was time she finally put the past to rest. She needed to look at him and see the man he'd become; the man Christiana had become so attached to.

That Christiana preferred Adhemar's company astonished her. She'd never thought Christiana would enjoy time with the man. She did though. Therefore, Jocelyn had to see what had changed that made him the sort of man Christiana wanted to be around. Call it curiosity or call it sisterly concern. Hell, she thought, call it plain nosiness. Jocelyn was ready to leave the bedchamber and return to her duties as lady of the manor.

Two more days, she decided. She'd give herself two more days of rest.

* * *

Simon Adhemar left the Thatcher home a bit happier than when he'd arrived. His brother was on the mend. It was a slow recovery, but Simon thought John was doing well. The maid Christiana was taking wonderful care of him and Simon decided she was good for his brother.

He was returning home with a document drawn up by the lawyer. John had signed over all his rights to Simon. Not just the rights on the money, but rights on every other aspect of what an eldest son had. Perversely, Simon was thrilled by the document. How often did the youngest become the oldest by law? The lawyer had been a wily old man who'd closed all the loopholes that the other Adhemar brothers might look at. Then, he'd penned several more copies of the document. If one was destroyed, there was always another copy.

John's reasoning was simple: Simon was the only one who'd bothered to come and see him, so Simon was the one who deserved everything.

Just like an Adhemar to hinge inheritance on who bothered to show up.

Simon gave a faintly malicious grin. He couldn't wait to hear the reactions of the rest of the family.

We'll see who's the weak one now.

* * *

Adhemar regarded the woman staring out the window with a tiny frown. She'd offered her life along with his and indicated she wanted a commitment. He got up and went to her, giving her shoulder a slight touch to get her attention.

Christiana turned her head. "Hmm?"

"We should speak, Christiana."

She tilted her head a little to one side, then shrugged. "I know."

They each took a chair, sitting so that they faced one another. Both crossed their arms and Christiana seemed somewhat nervous. Adhemar took a long look about the room before beginning. "What do you expect from me?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I can't love you. You know that. I can't give you affection because I can't afford to _feel_."

"I know." She repeated.

He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "I can't be physical with you, Christiana. Not now. Maybe never. Can you spend your life like that?"

"How do you think I was living before Will and I found you?" Stretching out a hand, she took one of his in her grasp. "We touch hands and you aren't pained by it. Once you would have flinched away. It's a start. There is progress...John."

Her use of his Christian name didn't bother him. In fact, he liked the sound of it from her lips. Adhemar stared at her, noted the quiet determination in her eyes and the subtle strength that wrapped about her. This woman was a survivor. Though broken herself, she'd come through the process a better woman, stronger and more certain of who she was.

Could he do the same? Could he go through this process and find in the end that he knew who he was? Right now, he felt as though he was sitting in the eye of the storm and any moment control would be snatched from him. His emotions would rage and he'd feel adrift upon stormy waters. The eye was the center though. And if he was in the center, then he was halfway along the path. If he was halfway along the path, then there was an end to this journey of healing. Could he let this woman inside in a time such as this?

He raised her hand, scrutinized it as closely as he'd scrutinized his own weeks earlier. Delicate bone structure, slender digits, but such strength. He pressed his lips to the back, inhaled the scent of rose that clung to her skin.

"What happens now," he asked.

Christiana smiled. "We go forward together."

This decision didn't make it all better. By taking the conscious step forward, he wasn't magically returned to what he'd been. No, returning to himself would still be a long and sometimes painful process. But he was encouraged.

Business and family were taken care of and he didn't have to go anywhere. Thatcher was graciously allowing him to remain on the property and he was content for now. He could stay here and finish his journey. For as long as it took, he could stay.

And maybe time would heal all his ills.

It had already begun.


End file.
